Chapter Twenty-Six
N one of the hacks she passed were willing to pick her up, a disheveled woman alone in the night. Kara walked grimly toward Mayfair, picking splinters from her hands as she went. Fortunately, she recalled the address from their research into Brougham, when they had been debating whether to interview Petra’s real father. Grafton Street was not far.
She slowed her pace as she turned the corner from Albemarle Street. There were street lights here, but she kept to the shadows, stepping carefully, watching for any sign of Gyda or Petra.
Brougham spent a great deal of his time in France, Stayme had said. There was no saying whether he was even in London right now.
But he was. His home was lit up, both within and without. Kara ducked into a doorway and studied it. Five stories. Brown brick. Not much opportunity for hidden surveillance. There was only a short staircase leading to the front door. Everything else was lined with black-rod iron railing. Perhaps in the back? But even as she thought to turn away, Kara spotted a mess spilling onto the pavement directly across the street. She crept closer.
There she was.
Petra had pushed over a planter on the stairs of the house across from Brougham’s. She sat now upon the narrow ledge and gazed at her father’s house.
Kara moved closer. Brougham was entertaining. The drapes were open and the small crowd inside was clearly visible. The man himself must be in the front room, where gentlemen were gathered with cigars and brandies.
“I know you are there.”
Holding still, Kara didn’t answer.
“Where is your husband? Dead, I hope.” Petra’s tone was flat.
Kara hung back. “No. Injured, though.”
“Well, that is something.”
Kara sighed. “Do you never tire of it?”
“Of what?”
“Of all of it. The plotting. The vengeance. The killing. The endless anger.”
Petra surprised her with her answer. “Sometimes.” But then her tone hardened. “I quite hated you the first time I saw you.”
“In the warehouse beneath your Seven Dials lair,” Kara said with a nod. “I remember.”
“Yes. There you were, fighting like a fury with my men, all to rescue Niall Kier. I despised you for freeing him, of course. For complicating my plans. But mostly I hated that you were risking life and limb for him.”
“I love him,” Kara said. “There was nothing else to be done.”
Petra snorted. “We are not so different, Kier and I. And yet no one ever willingly risked themselves for me. Not without promise of payment or threat of punishment. Not even Clémence. Not William, who has taken huge sums of money and disappeared somewhere.”
“That is the thing you don’t understand,” Kara said. “Your circumstance might bear a slight resemblance to Niall’s, but you are nothing like him. He cares , Petra. He gives of himself. He treats people with respect and kindness and, yes, love. You have to give love if you have any hope of receiving it.”
“You are hopelessly na?ve,” Petra said with a sniff. “It is a woman’s fairy tale you spin, you fool. Men do not believe in such airy nonsense. Money, influence, and power—that is what they respect.”
“Those are not the things that bring the sort of devotion you speak of wanting. And not all men are like that. Niall is not.”
“Perhaps Kier is the aberration, then.” She gestured toward the window across the street. “He was my mother’s trusted advisor. For years. He fought for her. He defended her publicly, but he never truly cared for her. About her. She was just a means for advancement. A way to make his name.”
“You cannot know that. Not for sure.”
“She knew it. I have some of her journals, you know. At the end, she knew.” A glint of light flashed as Petra tossed a knife and caught it. Once, twice, again. “And what of me? He knew about me. He might have claimed me. Taken an interest. Visited. Learned to know me.”
“And your sister.” Kara grew exasperated with the woman’s relentless self-interest.
“At least my sister got something out of him,” Petra said, sneering. “She blackmailed him, you know. Everyone in her life knew she’d been adopted, yet they seemed to care for her. I don’t know how she discovered who sired her, but when the waterman who raised her was injured, she came here and met our real father. Confronted him. She convinced him to purchase the cottage in Kingston upon Thames for her parents.” She stood. “Now, it is my turn.”
“It’s too late,” Kara said gently. “You have gone too far. He cannot give you anything.”
“He can give me the satisfaction of watching him pay for his indifference.” Petra hefted her blade, but instead of stepping into the street, she whirled and threw it at Kara.
She had been expecting something of the sort. She pivoted and the blade flew by, missing her completely. She pulled the pistol from her pocket, but Petra was on her, knocking it away. She heard the clatter as it skittered into the street.
It was only a moment before Petra had another blade in hand. Kara ducked away from her swing and reached for the knife Niall had once gifted her. It had scarcely cleared her pocket before Petra seized her wrist and cruelly wrenched it. The knife dropped from her suddenly useless fingers, but Kara didn’t hesitate. She tightened her other fist and swung hard, boxing Petra’s ear.
The other woman staggered back. Kara knew she could show no mercy. She kicked out, hitting Petra’s knee. The leg gave out and Petra went down on her other knee. She did not hesitate a second, though—she lunged back up, grabbed Kara by the hair, yanked her head back, and pressed the point of her blade beneath her chin.
But Kara had managed to pull one of her pointed lockpicks from a hidden pocket. She fisted it in her left hand and pressed it to Petra’s neck.
“We’ve come to a pretty impasse, haven’t we?” Petra asked with a smile. She sounded eager. Elated. “Whatever shall we do?”
Suddenly she stiffened. Her eyes widened. Kara jumped back as the blade beneath her chin dropped away. Petra staggered, stepping toward her.
“Die,” Gyda said from behind her. “At least, that’s what you will do. At last.”
Petra fell forward. She lay on the pavement without moving. Two of Gyda’s blades protruded from her lower back.
“Through the kidneys and into the diaphragm,” Gyda said. “Just like her League killed poor Sally Doughty. There’s no coming back from it. It’s over.”
Between them, Petra twitched, then stilled.
Gyda’s expression crumbled. She started to tremble. Kara stepped over the body and enfolded her friend in her arms. She held Gyda tight while she cried. The walls of her friend’s fury and need for vengeance fell away, and she shook with the force of her grief.
Gyda’s knees buckled. She sank down next to Petra, racked with emotion. Kara went down with her and just held her.
It took a while, but when the first wave of Gyda’s grief was over, she lay silent for a few minutes. Moving slowly, she sat up. Her hand still had a tremor as she wiped away her tears. She stared dully at Petra’s still form, then looked at Kara, her expression blank. “What now?” she asked.
“Now we go and make sure Niall is all right.” Climbing to her feet, Kara went to fetch her weapons.
“What of her?” Gyda spared Petra’s body another dispassionate glance.
Kara looked across the street. In the window she could see Petra’s father drinking and laughing with his friends. “Let him deal with her. For once.”
Together, they walked away.
When they reached Albemarle Street, Gyda stopped. Her expression was bleak as she blinked at Kara. “I can scarcely make one foot move in front of the other. It had to be done. But now it is done. And Charles is still gone. Kara, what now?” she repeated.
Kara sighed. “Now, you grieve. You cry. You rail at fate. And eventually, you heal. But you won’t do any of it alone.”
Gyda reached out and squeezed her hand. “I know. That much I know.”
Kara started walking again. Her pace increased with nearly every step, she was so anxious to get to Niall. When they arrived back at Westminster, they found a large group of men milling around. The House of Lords had obviously closed their session. They must have been drawn to the tower site by the smoldering carriage.
Kara pushed through them. She caught sight of Wooten surrounded by a circle of gentlemen, talking fast and gesturing. From several feet away, she saw Dalton had been set free. He was winding a bandage around Niall’s leg. He looked up, saw them coming, and gave Niall a nudge.
Her husband looked at her with boundless relief. He held out his arms and she fell into them. “Well?” he said over his shoulder to Gyda.
“It’s done. Over. She’s gone.”
“It was a close thing, but Gyda saved the day,” Kara told him.
Niall reached out a hand to his friend. “Thank you. Are you all right?”
Kara turned her head in time to see Gyda catch her breath and shrug.
Looking between them both, Niall asked, “What now?”
She and Gyda both laughed a little.
Leaning in to kiss her husband, Kara answered softly, “Now, we let the madness recede. We stick together. We heal. We live. We all enjoy a bit of peace.”