Chapter 3 #2
I stared. He hadn’t so much as helped me from the boat when we’d arrived—Jack had done that—and he’d been keen to keep his distance from me earlier. I had half a mind to politely refuse him and march away by myself. But Ginny and Jack were watching, and there was no point in making a scene.
“Thank you,” I said stiffly. I laid my hand on his arm with as little pressure as possible, not wishing to actually touch the man if I could help it.
He shifted his weight as if disliking my proximity.
His jacket parted slightly, and something glinted from within, reflecting the bright lanterns—a brass crown fixed atop a short wooden handle, most of it hidden within his pocket.
A Bow Street baton. I’d seen one before; Jack had one just like it.
It was both a symbol of authority and a weapon—and a reminder that this was not a man to be trifled with.
Well, neither was I a woman to be trifled with.
We followed Ginny and Jack into the trees, the sounds of the Cascade and the gathered crowd fading behind us. I cast Mr. Rawlings a sidelong glance, examining him.
“Yes?” he questioned, looking straight ahead. The pathway around us was dark, only lit by a few lanterns, the trees stretching over us into the night sky.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Only that earlier it seemed you were worried I might infect you with the plague.”
Mr. Rawlings’s mouth parted—to smile, perhaps, for the first time since I’d met him? But when he turned, there was no amusement in his iron expression. None in the least.
“Jack made it clear that I was not showing you the proper respect as his wife’s especial friend,” he said. “I am attempting to rectify the situation.”
Ah. That was what Jack had been speaking to him about.
“You do not seem the type to allow others to command your actions.” My voice was more cutting than I’d intended. But then, I did not particularly enjoy the fact that Jack had scolded Mr. Rawlings into offering me his arm.
His brow raised in challenge. “And you do not seem the type to force a man into escorting you on such a fanciful excursion.”
“Yes, well, you might have avoided this entire affair if you had simply allowed Mr. Drake to keep his original appointment with us.”
I hadn’t meant to lay out my irritation quite so plainly, but there was no taking the words back once they’d left my mouth. In truth, I didn’t wish to. It was clear that Mr. Rawlings was rarely crossed or questioned. Some caustic criticism might do him good.
He did not seem to agree, coming to a stop in the middle of the empty path and facing me directly. “Pardon me?”
I had to force myself not to release his arm and step back. He hadn’t looked me full-on since we’d left Bow Street, and dash it all if he weren’t something of a frightening figure, his face a harsh contrast of shadows and bare moonlight. I held my ground, however, and narrowed my gaze at him.
“I daresay it has to do with pride or some such nonsense,” I said. “With you being the head of the investigation, you can’t very well have your authority questioned. But you needn’t have punished Mr. Drake for wanting some time away from the case.”
Mr. Rawlings stared at me, the stiffness in his shoulders the only sign that he’d heard me. “You think,” he said slowly, dangerously, “that I sent Drake away out of spite?”
I jutted my chin. “I cannot imagine another reason when you knew he intended to join us tonight.”
His eyes hardened. “You have a very high opinion of yourself, Miss Lacey.”
“I do indeed,” I said. “But that is beside the point. You’ve yet to deny what I said.”
Mr. Rawlings gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Then let me do so now, unequivocally. I had no thought of you or your little outing in the least when I sent Drake out this afternoon. I was quite busy, you see, investigating a horrific murder. But I should have realized that apprehending a killer is nothing compared to the inconvenience of being deprived of your escort to a pleasure garden.”
The truth in his words stung. When he said it so bluntly, I could not help but feel silly.
Small. Foolish. But then my anger rose, resisting.
“Forgive me for misunderstanding,” I said tightly.
“If the situation is really so dire as all that, I cannot understand why you should have agreed to come in his place.”
“Because,” he ground out, “I was attempting to be polite, which I now see was a lost cause. My time would have been better spent at Bow Street.”
“It is not too late to leave,” I said with a stretched smile. “I would hate for anyone to think you might actually be enjoying yourself. You have a reputation to uphold, after all.”
“Bold words, Miss Lacey,” he said, his words clipped, “for a woman in your situation.”
I was not easily stunned into silence, but I found myself with my mouth parted, eyes wide. Had I misheard him? He only stared back, gaze set in a hard line, watching me as if to measure my reaction and judge me by it.
I slowly took my hand from his arm, dropping it to my side. “What precisely do you mean by that?” I said shakily, trying to remain calm but failing miserably.
“You seem quick to assume things of others when you should be more concerned about what people are saying about you.”
And I realized then that Mr. Rawlings knew precisely what sort of rumors had circulated about me since I’d last left London.
It wasn’t that I’d expected to avoid my past entirely. I’d known that would be impossible. The ton liked its gossip, and I had provided more than my fair share in the past. But I had hoped to ignore it for as long as possible, stay ahead of the rumors for at least a few days.
But it wasn’t to be. They were already here, haunting me and poisoning people against me. What had Mr. Rawlings heard? So many scandalous falsehoods had circulated two years ago, some worse than others. I hated that I cared. Why should this man’s opinion mean anything to me?
I wanted to cry, as pointless and absurd as that might be. That thought more than anything made me straighten my back and steel myself. I cried but rarely, and I would not let Mr. Rawlings be the one to push me over such an edge.
“I see,” I said, my voice rough. “And here I thought Jack had better taste in friends.”
My words fell into the silence between us, a stone in a pond. Mr. Rawlings said nothing, only stood with a rigid stillness, dark eyes reflecting the light of the lone lantern near us.
“Your company is no longer needed, Mr. Rawlings,” I somehow managed, “nor was it ever desired. Good evening.” I turned on my heel and continued along the now-deserted path.
Ginny and Jack had disappeared around a bend, not realizing we’d fallen behind.
No matter. I would catch them, and then I could finally begin to enjoy my night.
I heard Mr. Rawlings’s footsteps behind me, a quick, loping stride. “I cannot leave you here alone,” he said tightly. “I’ll see you to Jack.”
“That will not be necessary,” I replied, quickening my pace. “They’re just ahead.”
“Don’t be foolish,” he snapped. “This is Vauxhall, not Mayfair.”
I rounded on him, and he drew up short.
“I think it is quite more dangerous to be with you,” I retorted, “than to be alone. Though you may think otherwise from my reputation.”
“Miss Lacey,” he began, voice hard, “I cannot—” He stopped, his eyes flicking to something behind me, then widening.
I vaguely registered the sound of pounding footsteps, panting breaths. In the shortest of moments, Mr. Rawlings’s expression ran through a dozen emotions, each impossible to interpret. What was he—
He threw out his hands and pushed me to the side.
There was no chance to catch my balance. I hit the ground with an unflattering thud, my hip and shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. The hit sent a shuddering, breathless jolt through me, and I gasped, struggling to sit up, my hands sinking into the damp, muddy earth.
“Mr. Rawlings!” I yelped. “What in heaven’s—” Then my breath caught again.
Mr. Rawlings grappled with a man on the path in front of me. Grasping the stranger’s lapel with one hand, he drove his fist into the man’s face. The man—a black mask hiding his features—stumbled back a few steps. He caught his balance, and his mouth drew into a menacing sneer.
My mind churned slowly, too slowly. I could not breathe. Who was—What was—
The man launched himself back at Mr. Rawlings.
Cold, icy fear clawed through me. I could not control myself. I screamed an awful, breathless shriek.
Mr. Rawlings spun toward me, searching for whatever threatened me. There was nothing. I was a witless idiot, distracting him from the real danger.
In that briefest of moments, the masked man yanked something from his belt. It flashed in the lantern light.
A knife.
“Mr. Rawlings!” His name tore from me, a desperate lash.
It was too late. Mr. Rawlings turned just as the man slashed him across the upper arm. Mr. Rawlings shouted and fell back, one hand clutching his injured arm.
My stomach twisted, chest tight. I opened my mouth to scream again, but the sound froze in my throat as the masked man turned his lightless eyes toward me.