Chapter 25 #2
She gave a curt laugh. “Oh, Beatrice, you are naive. I am well aware he sees me that way, just as I see him as a way to inject a bit of excitement into my life.”
“Excitement?” I echoed. “Does that include trying to kill me at Vauxhall?”
Her expression froze. “I . . . I did not approve of that action on his part.”
“So you weren’t responsible for informing him that I’d returned to London?”
She gulped. “I was. But I told him I would ensure you stayed silent about what you saw at the Granville ball. We were never sure if you believed our ruse of a romantic tryst in the library.”
“I did,” I said. “Until recently.”
She shook her head. “That was why I started those rumors, to drive you away from London—and Jasper. I only just stopped him from going after you that very night.”
“So I should be thanking you?” I said, a harsh edge to my voice. “For ruining my life two years ago so your paramour did not kill me?”
Clarissa’s face was tight, intent. “Perhaps you should thank me. Jasper does not like leaving things to chance. That was why he followed you when he learned about your return to London. He watched you go into Bow Street, saw you in the company of two Runners at Vauxhall. He imagined that you might finally be reporting the robbery. His blood runs hot when he feels threatened, and he does not think properly.” She leaned forward and spoke in a rough whisper.
“I do not know what you are about, Beatrice, but I will warn you: Jasper is not a man to be trifled with. If you swear to keep quiet and return to your tiresome little country house, I can convince him to leave you be.”
“Can you?” I asked. “He seems to be a rabid dog with a very long lead.”
“He can see reason,” she snapped. “I will ensure it. Just swear you will not tell, and I will keep my end of the bargain.”
I looked at her, my stomach rioting in absolute disbelief at the woman in front of me. Because she’d been bored, she’d allowed herself to get swept away with a man like Jasper Rowde. She’d just implicated herself in attempted murder, for heaven’s sake.
I shook my head slowly. “I am sorry, Clarissa, but I cannot keep silent any longer.”
Her eyes turned to ice. “That is a dangerous path to take. I know Jasper far too well.”
“Knew,” I said.
Clarissa blinked. “What?”
“You knew Jasper.”
She said nothing. She stood stock-still.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked. “Where he went?”
“He told me—” She was gripping her reticule hard. “He told me he was leaving Town for business. To sell some of our goods.”
“He lied,” I said. “He came after me.”
“I told him not to,” she hissed. “I swear it! I told him he’d frightened you off, that we should leave it be.”
“He did not listen.” I swallowed before going on, the words sticking to my tongue like dried honey. “He’s dead, Clarissa.”
There was no pleasure in delivering such news. Even if Rowde was a monster and deserved his fate, even if she was a conniving, stealing wretch, I thought she might actually have loved the man. And death was not something that ever knocked lightly on anyone’s door.
Her face went utterly pale, leaving her freckles in stark contrast. “You’re lying,” she whispered.
I shook my head, chest aching. I hated her, but she deserved the truth. “He followed a servant from London to the house where I was hiding. He waited until the middle of the night, then broke inside.”
She gave a wordless shake of her head.
“He chased me from the house with a knife.” I tried to hold my voice steady.
“He would have killed me. But I was not without protection.” The memory of Alexander appearing through the rain and dark shot a burst of light through me.
It gave me determination, courage. “Jasper was shot and killed,” I managed.
Her body was rigid, as if her bones were made of sharp pins. “I don’t believe you.”
I opened my reticule and pulled out the note we’d found on Rowde, the one signed with C. H. I hadn’t been sure I would need it, but she was clinging so desperately to her denial. “Then how did we come into possession of this letter?” I asked quietly, holding it out for her to see.
Clarissa did not move, her eyes fixed on the letter. Then they turned to me, burning and boiling. “You little cow,” she said in a gasp. “You killed him. You killed him!”
She charged at me. Her hands lashed at my face, fingers bent into claws. I threw up my arms, blocking her. My heart choked in my throat. She railed against me, her rage unbridled.
“You killed him,” she shrieked, not caring one whit that we stood within a public shop.
I shoved her away, and she stumbled back a step. She found her balance, then flew forward again.
Something primitive and raw rose up inside me. Acting on instinct only, I formed a fist with my right hand and drove it at her face with all my might.
It connected with her jaw, and she dropped, falling to her knees and yowling like a cat. I gasped, clutching my hand against my chest. Blast, but it hurt!
Then Alexander was there, grasping Clarissa’s arms and yanking her to her feet. She fought him, though she looked dazed and confused. Jack darted through the opposite door and took over, pulling her arms behind her back. Verity appeared with iron fetters and worked with Jack to contain her.
I stood there, shaking, as Alexander turned to me.
He grasped my elbows. “Are you well?” His hold on me was almost too tight, as if he were reassuring himself.
I nodded, then shook my head. “I’ve hurt my hand,” I said, holding it against my chest.
He released a breath through his nose, then took my hand in his, gently cradling it as he removed my glove. He examined the skin of my knuckles, already turning red and purple. I hissed in pain as he bent one of my fingers.
“I really must teach you to plant a facer,” he said. “You’ve likely fractured it.”
“I have no regrets.”
His eyes flicked up to mine. “No. I do not imagine you do.”
Clarissa was cursing, language I was quite certain her mother would have fainted to hear her use.
Verity and Jack each took one of her arms and led her from the shop while the other patrons gawped and whispered.
I took several deep breaths and focused on Alexander’s face. “Did you hear enough?”
“We heard everything,” he said, his fingers pressing into my palm. “You did perfectly. She will not escape this time.”
I closed my eyes, relief sweeping over me. It was done. I’d done it. The truth would come out, and I would be vindicated after the last two years of torture. No one could argue against this—an arrest and prosecution by Bow Street.
I felt his fingers brush back a curl from my face, and I looked up at him. He watched me, so intent I felt like I ought to be a great painting in a museum.
“You’re a marvel,” he murmured.
How three simple words could make me want to melt into a puddle, I wasn’t entirely sure. But said by this man . . .
“I am, aren’t I?” I managed.
He exhaled a laugh, dropping a kiss to the tips of my fingers. “Confidence becomes you.”
“Beatrice.” Verity had come back into the shop, concern across her face as she approached us. “Are you—” Then she saw my hand in his, our closeness, and understanding dawned.
“She’s hurt her hand,” Alexander said, turning and setting his palm against the small of my back. “I’m taking her back to the Traverses’ and sending for a doctor.”
Verity nodded, a sly grin on her face. “We’ll need you at Bow Street after. Both of you.”
“In time,” he said. “Do what you can without us.”
Alexander guided me through the shop with that masculine surety I’d once thought off-putting but now found maddeningly alluring.
“Delaying your work?” I asked. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I am working,” he said. “Minding you is a full-time occupation.”
“You do not seem terribly bothered by it.”
His fingertips pressed more firmly into my back. “No.”
We stepped out onto the street, and it was utterly baffling how so many dozens of people could be passing by in total ignorance of what had just happened inside Hatchards. My life had been drastically altered, while theirs continued on in day-to-day normality.
A coach waited down the street. Mr. Drake was helping—forcing?
—Clarissa inside, her face a mask of pure hatred.
He followed, then Jack as well. Mr. Denning closed the door behind them, and the coach started off.
Several passersby had stopped to watch, whispering behind their hands.
I had little doubt that news of Clarissa’s arrest would spread like wildfire through the ton.
Verity had followed us from the shop and, seeing her husband just ahead, hurried to his side. He took her hand and held it with such sweet familiarity as he looked down at her. She touched his waistcoat and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.
It seemed like something of an intimate moment, so I turned to Alexander. Strangely enough, he was also watching Verity and Mr. Denning, brow furrowed as if he were considering some great moral dilemma.
He caught me watching him. “Yes?”
I smiled. “Nothing.” I bent my fingers again and found the pain had lessened. “Only, I think I really am well enough. I’d rather go to Bow Street and have this over and done with.”
He frowned, then nodded. “Very well. We’ll go to Bow Street. But we are still sending for a doctor.”
Verity and Mr. Denning walked back to join us, his hand at her elbow, his eyes skimming across the street in constant awareness.
I thought of Jack and how ferociously defensive he was of Ginny.
These Bow Street men. There was something innately chivalrous and protective in all of them.
Perhaps that was what had drawn them to their profession, a desire to guard and preserve.
I felt Alexander’s hand slide from my back to wrap around my waist. A flurry of heat burst through my stomach. I was a capable, intelligent, forward-thinking woman, but I had no defense to his staking so public a claim on my person. He was telling the world I was his. And I quite liked it.
“It seemed everything went according to plan?” Mr. Denning said when they reached us. He did not glance at Alexander’s arm around me, though perhaps that careful avoidance only made it more obvious.
Verity had no such qualms. She looked at me, eyes bright, mouth quirked.
“Yes,” Alexander said. “Quite thankfully, as our plans go awry more often than we care to admit.”
“I see you only mention that after the fact,” I said with a raised eyebrow.
Alexander shrugged, uncaring. “In this case, it worked. I have no complaints.”
Mr. Denning hailed a hack. As it came to a stop beside us, I glanced back at Hatchards.
I released one long, heavy breath, consumed once again by the fullest relief I’d ever felt in my life.
I did not know what my life would hold after today, but I knew I was finally free from the shadow that had been my constant companion for so long.
And while I hoped the rumors surrounding me would subside eventually, I found I did not care so much as I had in the past. My life was my own again, and I would make anything I wished of it.
Mr. Denning helped Verity inside the hack, then followed her. Alexander held out a hand to me. I took it but paused.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He nodded, eyes fixed on mine, a world opening inside those dark-brown irises. “You’re welcome,” he said.