In Your Arms Again (38 page)

The thickness of the trees made it next to impossible to light this area, which made it the perfect spot for trysting lovers. If the sounds Octavia heard as they entered the foliage were any indication, trysting lovers abounded.

But she and North would not join them as they groped and
moaned in the bushes. Even if there hadn’t been the watery moonlight to guide her, she would know exactly where to go. A few turns and she found it—the little stone hut the gardeners used to store their tools. Even if another couple had stumbled upon it, they wouldn’t have the key to open the lock. Octavia found it behind a loose stone in the outer wall. Opening the door, she let them both in, and then bolted it from the inside.

Two small windows gave enough light that she could see the outline of him and that was it, but that was all she—either of them—needed. They came together in a fierce embrace, their lips clinging as tightly as their arms. And when they finally broke apart, Octavia raised her gaze. Even though she couldn’t see the whole of his face, she knew the exact moment their gazes locked.

“That was nice,” she murmured. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

North chuckled in the darkness. That was his Vie. Direct and to the point.

“What do you mean?”

He caught a movement of her hand in the dim light. She was waving it up and down in front of him. “This. Explain this.”

Ahh, so she had noticed his change in appearance. She didn’t seem as impressed as everyone else.

“I shaved and cut my hair.” Actually, Brahm’s valet shaved him and cut his hair, but that was a minor point.

“Why? You never cared about your appearance before.”

Was that an insult or a compliment? “I have reason to care now.”

He sensed rather than saw her nod. “These political aspirations I’ve heard rumor of.”

Word traveled fast among the
ton
. “Yes.”

“Why do you not simply marry some simpering idiot whose papa is in with Liverpool?”

Fortunately for him, she couldn’t see him grin at her obvious jealousy. “I would rather take advantage of my brothers’ connections—such as Dev’s ties with Wynter and Wellington.” Both men were well respected and very involved in politics.

“That will disappoint many of the mamas here tonight. I overheard one telling her daughter what a good catch you would make.”

There was no disguising the caustic tone of her voice. “Me?” He laughed in disbelief. “A good catch? Since when?”

“Since you shaved and cut your hair, apparently.” Her tone could have flayed to the bone.

“What do you think?” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer, until he could feel the soft, long length of her flush against him.

“About what?” There was hesitancy in her voice.

“Am I good catch?”

“You did not have to change the way you look to deserve some stupid girl’s love, North. If all they care about is your appearance and connections, they do not deserve you.”

How could she, of all people say these things? She was the one person other than his brothers—the one woman—who had seen him at his worst. She had seen him belch, heard him curse, had been around when he stunk as no gentleman should, and yet she talked as though he were a great prize without all the trimmings and wrappings. She didn’t care if he tacked the Ryland on the end of his name or not. She didn’t care about any of it. Only him.

His forehead lowered to hers. “Ah, Vie. I have missed you.”

“I still reside at the same address, Norrie.” Her breath was champagne-sweet against his face. “You could have come to call.”

“No I could not. I shouldn’t be here with you now. Being alone with you isn’t wise.” Just the scent of her, the feel of her was enough to make him want to lower her to the dirt floor and have his way with her.

“Why not?” Of course she wouldn’t make it easy for him to resist temptation.

“It isn’t safe for you to be associated with me.”

“It has never been safe for me to be associated with you.”

What the hell did that mean?

“My mother warned me away from you because she feared I would do exactly what I did and give myself to you. My grandfather feared people would discover the truth about my past if they discovered we knew each other. And I have always known that you were more dangerous to me than any other man. I have loved you since I was old enough to know what love was.”

Christ, did she mean to make his heart feel as though it were about to burst?

Soft fingers brushed his cheek in the darkness. “My question to you, Norrie, is what do you plan to do about it?”

“What do you mean?” He meant to have her, that’s what he planned.

“You have told me to stay away from you, that you are no good for me, and yet you keep coming to me, keep drawing me in. It cannot continue. If you want me, take me. If you do not, stop torturing me this way. Go back to your world and give me a little peace.”

He’d had no idea that she was as haunted by him as he was by her. No idea that it was as difficult for her to let go as for him. How stupid of him not to realize that it hurt her to see him just as much it hurt him to see her—and just as much for them not to see each other at all.

His arms tightened around her. “I have no intention of leaving you, Vie. Or allowing you to leave me.”

“You do not have any intention of being with me either.” She was not going to let him off easily, was she?

“I do. I will. As soon as I can.” It was a vow he intended to keep.

“As soon as you have caught Harker.”

“Yes.”

There was a beat of silence. A slight hesitation. “I do not know if I can wait that long.”

His stomach clenched not only at the words, but at the pain in them. “Wait for me, Vie. Please. Just a little while longer.”

“I have been waiting twelve years already. How do I know Harker is not just some excuse? That there will not be someone else there to take his place?”

“Because I am giving up hunting criminals. He is my last.”

Silence.

“Really?” The hope in her voice cut him like a knife.

“Really. Will you wait?” How glad he was that he couldn’t see her face.

Her fingers clenched at his arms, digging into the nearly healed flesh where he had been shot. “I—”

He never heard her reply—if she said anything at all, because there suddenly was a loud pounding on the door.

“North, get the hell out here!”

“Who is it?” Octavia demanded, fear in her voice.

North gave her a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. “It is Wyn.” Crossing to the door, his eyes having long since adjusted to the faint light, North slipped the bolt loose and swung the heavy oak open.

Wynthrope stood alone outside. “Are you dressed?”

North could have kicked him. “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

North wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet. “Where? And how the hell did you know where to find me?”

He could almost imagine the exasperation on his brother’s
face. “After Spinton announced his engagement, I noticed the two of you were missing. One of your men was looking for you, so I asked Spinton where the most secluded spot on his estate was. I figured Octavia would know it as well. He told me here.”

Good Lord, his brother should have been a spy—a legitimate one. Once, Wyn had thought he worked for the English government, but that was a long time ago.

“Why was my man looking for me?”

Wyn’s face lifted in the moonlight. North could see the tightness in his jaw. “They think they have Harker.”

North stopped breathing. Harker. Could it be? Could the end be this close?

“Take Octavia home,” he instructed, stepping outside.

“I have already made arrangements for Francis to take her. I am coming with you.”

“You are not!” The last thing he wanted to worry about, other than Octavia’s safety, was his brother’s as well.

Wynthrope would not be dissuaded. “You need someone to watch your back, and since Francis cannot be there, I will be.”

There was no point in arguing. Not now. North held his hand into the darkness of the little shed. “Vie?” he asked softly.

She came to the door like a queen en route to her execution—all grace and dignity despite her fear.

“I will take you back to the house,” he offered.

She said nothing. She merely took his hand and led both him and Wyn out of the trees and back to the garden.

“Go,” she said, turning to him under the light of the torches. “I will find Mr. Francis.”

But Francis was already striding toward them—North would know that burly silhouette anywhere.

“When this is over,” North promised, “I will come for you.”

Her fear was obvious in the tightness of her features and the quiver in her voice. “You had better.”

Christ, leaving her was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Careless of who might see, and ignoring Francis and his brother, North crushed Octavia to him and kissed her as though he might never have the chance to kiss her again.

“Be careful,” she whispered as they broke apart.

Her eyes shimmered with tears. There was nothing he could do to take them away. “I will be.”

“Take care of her,” he said to Francis.

The bearded man nodded.

North had only made it a few steps before a thought occurred to him. He turned to face her once more.

“You look beautiful tonight, Vie. You always do.”

She smiled in the flickering light. “So do you, Norrie. So do you.”

Bow Street had Harker cornered in a pub, and although Duncan Reed had more than enough men to handle the situation, he knew how much bringing the crime lord down meant to North. He would have sent for him even if Harker hadn’t grabbed one of the Runners, put a knife to his throat, and demanded that North be brought in to do the negotiations.

“Negotiations?” North shot Duncan a puzzled glance. “Harker does not negotiate.”

His former employer nodded. “He does not. I think it’s a trap for you, but I had to think of my man first.”

Of course he did. North understood that. He would have done the same thing. “Harker!” he yelled. “I’m here. Let the man go.”

“You come in here first!” came the slightly muffled reply.

Wyn grabbed his arm as he started toward the building. “You cannot mean to go in there!”

North nodded. “I do.”

His brother scowled, disbelief in his gaze. “But Reed is right! It is a trap.”

Another nod. “Probably. But I am not going to risk that Runner’s life.”

“But you will risk your own?” It was obvious what Wyn thought of that.

“Of course.”

Understanding flickered in his brother’s dark blue gaze. He released North’s arm. “Go then.”

He held Wyn’s gaze just a few seconds longer before leaving his side. Cautiously, silently, he entered the tavern. How long his stealth would last before he hit a creaking floorboard was anyone’s guess. Not that it mattered. Harker was watching the door.

The tavern interior was lit by wall sconces, lending a warm atmosphere to the otherwise dingy establishment. It was empty of patrons save for one man passed out at a table in the corner. Harker stood with his back against the far wall, his blind glinting as he held it to the Runner’s throat.

“Here I am,” North said softly as he stepped into the light. “Let him go now.”

Harker eyed him like a wild animal. “Get away from the door.”

Holding his hands slightly in front of him so Harker would trust him not to reach for a weapon, North did as he was ordered. Perhaps it had been stupid of him, but he didn’t have a pistol on him. He had his own blade and that was it.

As soon as he was far enough away from the exit, Harker let the man go. The Runner ran from the tavern as fast as he could, tripping over a chair in the process.

“What is this all about?” North asked once they—and the man snoring in the corner—were alone.

“That.” Harker pointed to a spot behind him.

Stepping closer, North narrowed his eyes. Harker moved aside to give him a better view.

It was a woman. North recognized her instantly as Cassie
Crocker, an actress he had known since his youth. She lay on the floor in a crumpled heap, her eyes wide and unseeing, her throat cut.

Christ.

She wasn’t a common prostitute whose death could be swept aside. She was a public figure—a fairly well-known and popular actress. Her murder would be noticed, especially since Harker hadn’t even bothered to dispose of the body.

“What did she do?” North asked, keeping his tone measured. “Refuse to take you back?”

“None of your business.” Harker’s eyes were wild, his expression that of a man who knew when he was cornered—and like a rat he was prepared to fight his way out.

“You have made it my business,” North reminded him. “Although I have no idea why.”

Sweat beaded above Harker’s upper lip. “You are going to get me out of here.”

That was laughable. “You think? If I do it will only be to take you straight to Newgate.”

“You don’t understand,” Harker replied. “If I do not make it out of this tavern and continue on my merry way, your precious Lady Octavia is a dead woman.”

Ice pooled in North’s veins as fury and fear stoked a fire in his belly. “You cannot harm her from prison.”

Harker grinned. “I have friends, Sheffield. All I have to do is say the word and she’s dead. Maybe not right away. Maybe I’ll keep you guessing. But she will die, make no mistake.”

North’s jaws ground together. “I will see you dead first.”

His nemesis’s grin widened. “We can do it that way, if you like. The idea of killing you and then going after your woman appeals to me. Although I’d much rather do her first.”

Before North could respond, before he could even reach for the blade in his boot, Harker launched himself at him. North deflected the blow with his arm and caught Harker’s
wrist in his own as the bloody blade curved toward him once again.

This was why he was there—why Harker had asked for him. He had known Bow Street wouldn’t let him out alive. Perhaps he had thought for a bit that he and North could work out some kind of arrangement, but he had to have known North wouldn’t agree—although if letting Harker go kept Octavia alive, North would be tempted. It wouldn’t work that way, though. North would always be waiting for Harker to make his move.