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Authors: Tina Gabrielle

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She needed fresh air and the garden would do nicely. She reached for the knob.

“Evelyn.”

She recognized his voice instantly, and her hand froze on the knob. Slowly she turned.

Jack stood, leaning against one of the tables, his steady gaze riveted on her face. “Where are you going?”

“Why are you here?” She answered with a question of her own.

“You ate close to nothing in the dining room, and you were alarmingly pale in the library. I was concerned.”

“I'm fine. Nothing a bit of fresh air won't cure. Go back to the library before you are missed, Jack.”

“We need to talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“About what happened between us in my chambers.”

Horrified, her face grew hot with humiliation. Try as she might, images of their bodies entwined on the Wilton carpet of his office rose within her like an ocean wave. She had acted no better than a common doxy.

Her embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance and she replied irritably, “There's nothing to talk about. We had agreed nothing would change between us.”

He stalked forward and stopped in front of her. “I'm afraid that's no longer possible, Evie. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.”

Dear Lord, neither have I,
she thought.

Her heart pounded in her chest at his words. With sudden clarity she knew she had been fooling herself all along. After experiencing Jack Harding, how could she ever continue with her plans of marrying Randolph? Worse still, how would any man measure up to Jack?

I'm falling in love with him. Or have I always been in love with him?

In that instant Evelyn knew what she had to do: Confess all to Randolph and beg his forgiveness. She knew now that she could never marry Randolph. Her last hope was to hold on to her friendship with him. It was a friendship she treasured and held dear, and despite what had occurred between her and Jack, despite her growing feelings for the man who stood before her, she would not abandon Randolph without ensuring his innocence and freedom. Randolph may despise her after she confessed to an illicit affair, but she would not disclose with whom she had the affair and pray that Randolph retained Jack as his barrister.

She cleared her throat. “Jack, I've thought of it as well. But it was a mistake and must never happen again.”

His expression darkened. “It didn't feel like a mistake to me.”

“I'm sure it has happened to you before.”

“No, it hasn't. I've never made love to a woman in my chambers.”

“That's not what I meant.” She was not ignorant of Jack's reputation of charming the ladies. “You said you would continue to represent Randolph.”

“I meant it at the time.”

“At the time?”

He shoved his fingers through his hair. “It will be difficult for me to represent him when I am distracted by you. Perhaps Mr. Sheldon would be best represented by another barrister. I know many competentâ”

“No. You promised,” she insisted.

“Why is it so important to you that I represent him?”

“Because of your trial record. Because Randolph is innocent.”
Because my conscience will never be assuaged should Randolph be found guilty if you failed to defend him because of our affair.

“All right, Evie. I'll do it. But it will not be easy.” He laughed beneath his breath. “Anthony and Devlin were right.”

She didn't know what he meant by his last comment, but then she lost her train of thought when he reached out and cupped her face with his hand.

“I need you to know something, Evie. What we shared was different for me. Special.”

His gaze was soft as a caress, and he stepped closer, his palm sliding behind her neck. His eyes lowered to her lips, and she sensed he was about to kiss her.

She didn't protest. Didn't move.

“Evie,” he whispered.

Yes, Jack. Kiss me one last time.

His mouth brushed hers, once, then twice. She parted her lips and closed her eyes.

A pounding on the kitchen door sounded.

She jerked back and opened her eyes. “Dear Lord, who could that be?”

“Step aside,” Jack instructed as he reached for the knob and swung the door open.

A lone man stood in the doorway. Dressed in a black coat with the collar turned up around his neck and the curled brim of his hat pulled low, it took Evelyn a moment to identify him.

“Simon! What are you doing here?” Evelyn asked.

Simon Guthrie glanced at Jack, then Evelyn. “I've come with bad news.”

“Randolph?” Evelyn asked, afraid of the answer.

Simon nodded, his face grim. “There was a scuffle with the Bow Street Runners. Randolph escaped, but he was injured.”

Evelyn's stomach clenched. “Has he seen a doctor?”

“He's refused. He's back at the Shoreditch town house, and he's asking for you.”

Her voice frozen with fear, Evelyn could only stare.

“I'm going with you,” Jack said.

Chapter 31

On a Friday night, Shoreditch's theaters and music halls were crowded with partygoers. Evelyn sat across from Jack and Simon in Jack's carriage, and she gazed out the window at the brightly lit music halls and streets teeming with revelers. Shoreditch was far from London's Drury Lane Theatre, and the quality of the productions lacked the city's polish, the patrons of the music halls a loud, rough lot.

“This is a bad idea, Evie. Your father wouldn't approve.”

Evelyn glared at Jack seated across from her in the carriage. Simon sat still beside Jack.

She raised her chin a notch. “I have no choice.”

Evelyn knew she was taking a great risk fleeing her home in the middle of the night to see Randolph. The waiting had seemed endless until the judges had departed for the evening, and she had been able to slip out of the house undetected. Simon had hid in the gardens and Jack in his carriage around the corner.

They left the theater district and soon alehouses, inns, and gambling houses appeared. The noise from the establishments spilled into the streets, and the scent of sewage wafted through the carriage window. A scantily clad woman waved a colorful scarf and called out a window of an inn. Even from across the street, Evelyn could see the woman's enormous breasts resting on the windowsillâher unnaturally red hair matching her painted lips.

A quick glance at a group of drunken sailors rollicking across the street sent Evelyn's pulse racing. She realized what she took to be an inn was indeed a brothel. Shocked, she stared at the scene with wide eyes.

The Cyprian's plying her trade quite successfully. They're like hounds drawn to the scent of bloody meat,
she mused.

The cobbled street they were currently traveling was in horrid disrepair, and it was not long before the wheels of the carriage hit a rut.

Evelyn jerked forward, grasping Jack's thigh for support.

“Careful, Evie.” Jack's hand steadied her.

Her cheeks burned, and she removed her hand as if she had clutched a hot poker. She was more conscious than ever before of Jack's presence mere inches away.

Simon coughed, and Evelyn turned to him.

“Randolph is staying here?” she asked in a choked voice.

“No, Bess Whitfield's town house is closer to the theater district, but this is the safest route at the moment. Constables rarely travel this road.”

She didn't know how to respond to that comment so she remained silent. Soon rows of town houses came into view. The buildings were better maintained here, and Evelyn was relieved to know Randolph hadn't been staying with the riffraff they had passed. Yet the thought that he was living in the dead actress's home, the same woman he was suspected of murdering, struck Evelyn as past the bounds of good sense. It was clear that Simon and Randolph did not share her sentiments.

The carriage came to a stop. Evelyn and Jack followed Simon up the front steps and into a dimly lit vestibule. Simon lit a lamp, and a low glow illuminated the area. Flocked wallpaper with a floral design and dainty furnishings revealed a woman's touch. But the place was dirty with rubbish littering the floor and dead flowers in a porcelain vase on a corner end table. Cobwebs already clung to the rungs of the banister. Had they not bothered to clean the place since Bess Whitfield had last lived here?

“Where's Randolph?” she asked.

“Upstairs.”

They reached the top of the stairs, walked down a narrow hall until Simon halted by a closed door and turned to Evelyn. “I must warn you that Randolph has taken a large dose of laudanum for the pain.”

She nodded. She didn't care if he was coherent, she wanted to see him. She reached for the doorknob.

Jack touched her sleeve. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I must speak with Randolph privately.”

“I'll be outside the door.”

Evelyn slowly opened the door. The interior of the room was dimly lit, and it took her a moment to make out a figure on the high four-poster. She tiptoed closer, seeing Randolph lying still, a rose-patterned sheet that matched the curtains pulled up to his chin.

“Randolph,” she whispered.

He jerked at the sound of her voice and opened his eyes. “Evelyn? Is that you?”

She rushed to his side. “Yes, I'm here. I came as soon as I heard.”

He lowered the sheet to reveal the bandage around his chest. “I cracked some ribs. It hurts like the devil.”

His slurred words and glassy, bloodshot eyes alarmed her. He was obviously still under the effects of the laudanum. Her eyes traveled his face, noticing the bruises around his left eye and swollen bottom lip. But the purplish, egg-sized knot on his temple was what truly alarmed her.

She placed her reticule on an end table next to a pitcher of water, and sat on the edge of the bed. Pushing his fair hair from his forehead, she was relieved that he was not hot to the touch. His injuries were severe enough, but a fever could kill him. She caressed his head, careful not to touch his injured temple.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, her voice compassionate.

“Simon and I went to an alehouse. We drank too much and decided to try our hands at a game of cards. I was up ten pounds. I knew I should have walked away, but we are in need of money so I stayed. When I won the next hand, I couldn't believe my luck, but the brute across from me accused me of cheating. Me, cheating! Imagine that!” Randolph cried out, his gaze intense. “That's when the brawl started. Someone called the constable, and the Bow Street Runners showed up. One of them recognized me and a simple bar fight turned into a fight for my life. The Runner struck me in the temple with his truncheon. That's when Simon came to my aid and hit the Runner with a chair and stunned the man. We ran from the alehouse. Simon saved my life.”

“What were you thinking going to the alehouse, Randolph? You are supposed to be in hiding.”

Randolph flushed miserably. “You don't know what it's like staying here. I couldn't stand to be banished any longer. I used to have a life. I used to have
you.
”

Pain squeezed her heart at the desperation in his voice. “Oh, Randolph. After Bess Whitfield's murder is resolved, you will be able to go back to your previous life. Your Fellowship at Oxford, your research, your friends, all will return.”

“And you, Evelyn? When this is all over, as you are so certain it will be, will you stay with me? Will all return to normal between us?” There was a tremor in his voice.

She swallowed. The moment was here. The time to tell him of her indiscretion, her illicit affair, to confess she was not the perfect woman for him and would not make a perfect wife. She opened her mouth, then closed it as a terrible tenseness seized her.

I have no choice. I must tell him!

Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “Randolph, I've been thinking. I'm not certain we should marry.”

His brow creased, his eyes unfocused. “What are you saying?”

“I no longer wish to marry you. Please understand. It is not because of your cousin's murder and the resulting circumstances, but because Iâ”

He grasped her arm and pulled her close, his blue eyes flashing. Despite his injuries and drugged state, he was surprisingly strong. “Please, Evelyn. Help me. You aren't going to leave me, are you?”

Any words she would have spoken died on her lips. How could she continue to argue when he was injured, drugged, and desperate?

She smoothed back the sandy blond hair from his forehead with a shaky hand.

“Please don't upset yourself, Randolph. I'll take care of everything as usual.”

She did not answer his question, yet he failed to notice and somehow her words comforted him. His viselike grip on her arm eased.

“Try to rest now, Randolph.” She rose, refilled his water glass from the pitcher on the end table, and left the room.

Jack and Simon were waiting outside.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked.

She nodded woodenly.

“I'd like to speak with him,” Jack said. “A while back I had asked for the shirt he wore the night of the murder.”

“The bloody shirt? Why do you need it?” Simon asked.

“It may prove critical to my investigation,” Jack said.

Seconds passed, then Simon nodded. “Randolph has it. You can see him if he is awake.”

“He's awake, but he's exhausted and needs to rest,” Evelyn said.

“I won't be long.” Jack opened the bedroom door and slipped inside, leaving Evelyn alone with Simon.

Evelyn turned to Simon. “What were you thinking, going to the alehouse?” she asked, unable to keep the censure from her voice.

“Randolph was restless and in need of fresh air. I thought it best if I accompanied him rather than allow him to venture into Shoreditch alone. I couldn't have stopped him.”

Evelyn sighed, feeling selfish for venting on Simon. Her nerves were raw, her emotions tangled by guilt and fear. It wasn't his fault that Randolph had gone to the alehouse. “You're a good friend, Simon. How can I ever repay you for saving his life?”

“He needs you, Evelyn. You will not abandon him?”

She was taken aback, not so much by the question itself, but by the intense look in Simon's eyes. Her instincts flared, and she knew her answer was important to Simon, as important as if Randolph had asked her himself.

“No, I will see him through his troubles,” she said.

That much was true. She would do everything in her power to aid Randolph until he was free to return to his prior life. As for the fact that she would never marry him, that was not something she was prepared to admit to Simon.

Jack approached the four-poster with reserve. “It's Jack Harding, Mr. Sheldon.”

Randolph's eyes flew open; he struggled to raise himself on his elbows.

“Don't sit up,” Jack said.

“It's my broken ribs. They hurt like hell.”

“Pain is good. It lets you know you're still alive.”

“What good is alive when I'm hunted?”

“You're right about that much. Eventually Bow Street will look here.”

Randolph flinched at Jack's tone. “You're my barrister. Can't you do something?”

“The best thing we can do is find the killer. Tell me, do you know of a diary Bess Whitfield had kept?”

“A diary?”

“Yes, her dresser at the theater had said she diligently wrote in a diary, including the names of her lovers. Do you know where she kept it?”

“I don't know of any diary.”

“Think back, Mr. Sheldon. If we can find the diary, the killer's name might be written on the pages. We know of two of her last lovers, both of whom we are investigating, but there were othersâa commoner and a mysterious benefactor. I want to question them both.”

Randolph shrugged. “I can't help you.”

“How about the shirt you wore the evening you found Bess's body?”

Randolph let out a long, audible breath. “I was going to burn the shirt. I kept it only because you had asked for it. It holds horrible memories for me.”

“Where is it?”

“I stuffed it behind the wardrobe.”

Jack strode to the wardrobe in the corner. Crouching down, he reached behind it, his fingers brushing the back panel and wall until he felt a soft fabric. He pulled the shirt free and shook out the wrinkled, stained cotton.

“How can that help?” Randolph asked.

“Leave that to me,” Jack said.

The bedroom door opened and Jack came out, a white cotton shirt in his hand. The fabric was saturated in areas with Bess Whitfield's dried blood. Inky black. The sight of the old blood made Evelyn's stomach roil.

“Is that it?” Evelyn asked.

“We're fortunate he kept it.”

She wanted to ask why, but Jack spoke. “Randolph needs to see a doctor. I know of one who lives close by. I'll send a note for him to visit.”

“Can he be trusted?” Simon asked.

“Yes, the man is a former client. He owes me a favor.”

Relief coursed through Evelyn. “Thank you. His ribs will heal, but I am worried about the hit to his head.”

“My man will see to him. We need to leave, Evie,” Jack said.

“I'll stay the night with him,” Simon said. “Just in case he needs someone.”