Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
If it weren’t for the attentive chaperone who’d joined them for their carriage ride across town, Eric would pull Juliet onto his lap and lift her skirts.
He’d slide his fingers into her cunny, then coax her honeyed juices to flow.
Finally, he’d slam his cock deep inside her, while telling her how thrilled he was that she’d agreed to be his wife.
He sighed. Having to behave was doubly frustrating since a tup might calm his racing thoughts and frazzled nerves.
Unfortunately, he might have to wait longer than he cared for to enjoy a private carnal betrothal celebration.
Hell, now that Juliet had returned to her parents, they might not have a moment alone until after they officially married.
Once he had taken care of the task at hand, he needed to find them a home and purchase a large bed.
’Twas obvious that Juliet and Betty had missed each other because they held hands, chatting and laughing as the carriage rolled along. Even though it was not the time for such innocent happiness, Eric found the scene endearing.
“I shall embroider you a lovely wedding present,” Betty said.
Juliet clasped her maid’s hand. “I would love that, but my father is going to help us obtain a common license, so we will marry soon. That won’t give you much time.”
Betty grinned. “Don’t you worry about that. Where there is a will, there is a way.”
“Eric, Betty is a skilled seamstress, and her needlepoint is better than anyone of my acquaintance,” Juliet said.
Betty blushed.
“That is a wonderful skill to have,” Eric said. “I tend to tear my shirts. I could use a seamstress.”
“’Tis those large, rippling muscles,” Juliet said with a mischievous grin.
He preferred Juliet’s explanation to the truth, which was that it was easy to tear your clothing when you roamed around in the dark, climbing, punching, kicking, sprinting, and leaping. Too bad he didn’t have a sturdy costume that allowed for easy movement.
“I would be happy to fix your torn clothing,” Betty said.
Eric suspected she wished to stay with Juliet after she moved out of her parents’ home. He had no objections, as long as his blunt held out. But that was a conversation for a later time, because currently, he had a lot on his mind.
“Thank you,” he said.
As the women talked about the wedding, Eric turned his gaze to the window, watching London pass by.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about their nuptials, but he was fretting since he was about to meet his nemesis.
As much as he wanted to spend time with Juliet, it had been a mistake to bring her with him.
He’d tried to talk her into spending the afternoon with her parents, but the woman was single-minded. “You faced my parents with me, so I shall be there while you face your demon,” Juliet had declared. “I insist. I shall wait in the carriage with Betty.”
He struggled to articulate that his demon was not the same as over-protective, pretentious parents, whom they’d won over quite easily.
He, in fact, quite liked Dudley and Theodosia, something he hadn’t predicted.
His demon was truly evil, hunting the streets of London as he snuffed the life from unsuspecting women. A lump formed in Eric’s throat.
And now, due to his inability to convince Juliet otherwise, he had two gentle women with him as he drove across London on route to a rookery in the East End where all hell might break loose.
Coldpepper was correct. Women! Lord, give Eric strength.
He had no idea when Juliet and Betty quieted or when the carriage officially arrived at their destination. When he stopped daydreaming, he realized their vehicle was silent and had come to a standstill. Chewing on her lip, Betty stared out the window.
Juliet crossed the carriage to sit beside him. “I shall be right here after you finish talking to him.”
As much as he wanted to kiss Juliet, he didn’t want to shock their chaperone, so he simply reminded them to stay in the carriage, then he excused himself.
“Rotters of all sorts walk these streets, so please look out for the ladies,” he told the footman and the carriage driver.
So much for Baron Coldpepper’s support because once his staff told him where they’d traveled to, the baron would punch him in the nose.
Eric would have to stand there and take the beating, since he deserved it.
“They are in good hands,” the driver said.
“They better be,” Eric mumbled under his breath. His passive-aggressive response was likely a result of his nerves getting the better of him. Because, of course, Coldpepper’s men would take care of the women.
Eric did his part by scouring the area for suspicious-looking individuals. Deciding that it looked safe for the moment, he followed Fletcher’s directions, easily finding the orange flashhouse.
He entered through the front door and took the rickety stairs to the third floor. He knocked on the second door on the left. When no one answered, he entered. Perhaps this was rude, but the man who resided here was a murderer, not an upstanding citizen.
The room was dark except for a small amount of gray light filtering in through a window. Eric choked on the smell of piss, gin, and rot. A figure that was half skeleton, half man, and lying on a mattress in the corner, sat up.
“Pete Dixon?” Eric asked, wanting to confirm that he had the individual Fletcher had sent him to.
“Who wants to know?” the man asked.
Eric used his palm to shield his nostrils from the effluvium as he stepped over empty bottles and a dead rat. What kind of degenerate lived in this kind of filth?
“Don’t kill him,” Fletcher had said upon turning over the man’s name.
“Face him. Berate him. Bloody his nose. Ask your questions. But whatever you do, do not take his life. Unfortunately, I doubt the magistrate will want to take on a twenty-year-old murder case. However, once you get your answers, I will still turn Pete Dixon over to him. Keep in mind, too much attention on The Pink Petal, after Abigail’s disappearance, won’t be good for Athena or her girls. ”
Of course, Eric didn’t want to draw attention to Auntie, especially since The Pink Petal would soon be permanently shutting its doors and the ladies were weeks from freedom.
But now that the man stood before him, and knowing that Dixon would never be punished, red-hot hatred coursed through him, and he wanted to kill.
“I’m Cleopatra’s son,” Eric said. He despised referring to his mother with the demeaning moniker, but he wanted this man to know who was about to snuff his life.
“Ah. What took ye so long to find me?” the man, who was obviously Dixon, asked.
What in the bloody hell kind of question was that?
“She was a good woman,” Dixon said. “Didn’t deserve for her life to end like that. ’Twas an accident, you see.”
Eric stomped across the room. He wrapped his palms around the smelly, old drunk’s neck and pulled him onto his feet. “Why did you run away like a coward? Why not face what you did?”
Dixon tried to answer, but his words came out garbled as he fought to breathe. Curiosity getting the better of him, Eric loosened his grip so that he could hear the man’s response.
“Because I am a coward. A no-good, pathetic piece of shite. Never was of use to anyone. Didn’t deserve to even have a woman like Celeste touch me.”
The degenerate knew his mother’s real name?
“I’m sorry, Eric.”
Obviously, he also knew Eric’s name.
“But you ended up a good man,” Dixon said. “Hell of a pugilist.”
Shocked and confused, Eric loosened his grip, stepped back, and gawked.
“I saw ye fight once,” Dixon said. “Your Momma would’ve been proud.”
Had the man who haunted his dreams been within his grasp the entire time? Eric pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Checked on you here and there, whenever I was sober,” Dixon said.
How had Eric not known, when he could detect any individual’s footsteps in a crowd, and scent a predatory man in a city of thousands? Especially when Dixon’s stench made him impossible to miss.
Eric dropped his gaze to Dixon’s hands. Sure enough, he was missing two fingers.
“Lost those fixing a loom,” Dixon said. “Worked in a factory for a bit. Until that night. Haven’t worked since. Haven’t gone out much since.”
If he rarely left this hovel, no wonder Eric hadn’t been able to find him.
“Guilt eats a man alive, from the inside out,” Dixon said.
“Like a green toxin poisonin’ your blood.
At first, ye can’t eat and ye can’t sleep.
But then you discover that drinking takes away the pain.
So ye drink and drink until the gin tastes like bile, and then all ye do is sleep.
Unfortunately, sleep comes with nightmares, so ye just pray that someday soon, ye get what ye deserve because once ye take your last breath, ye can finally sleep nightmare-free.
” Dixon stepped forward and elongated his neck as if inviting Eric to grab and squeeze.
“Do not think to garner my pity,” Eric said.
“Pity. Nah. Don’t want that. I just want ye to put me out of me misery.”
The truth was, Eric did pity this pathetic excuse of a man. But just like Riley, he wasn’t worth the green-bile-guilt that would come with his demise. Juliet Coldpepper deserved better than a murderer for a husband.
Eric turned his back to Dixon and slowly retraced his path to the door.
“Wait,” Dixon called. “Aren’t ye going to put me out of me misery? Come back.”
Ignoring him, Eric continued forward, leaving his nemesis in his past. He stepped into the gray fog, took a deep breath, and almost ran into Juliet. The bloody coachman and footman needed a put down.
“I was worried about you,” she said. “I decided I wanted to be close in case you needed me.”
By God, he loved this woman who was willing to leave her beautiful world to stand by his side in a filthy rookery.
He nudged her around, placed his hand in the small of her back, and guided her toward the carriage.
The footman stood a few feet away, watching.
Eric suspected Juliet had convinced him to let her enter the building, following close behind her.
“Did you get the answers you needed?” she asked.
He nodded. “I did.”
“You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
He shook his head.
“I knew you would do the right thing. He deserves to pay for his misdeed, but I don’t want his death hanging over us.”
Perhaps spending his life wallowing in a filthy flashhouse, drunk on cheap swill, was the man’s payment.
“We have a happy life ahead of us,” she said as if reading his mind. “Now, we can concentrate on our marriage and home.”
“That sounds perfect,” he said.
She leaned close to whisper, “And ridding London of ne’re-do-wells. But you can just knock them out, tie them up, and leave them in front of prisons.”
“You plan to join my crusade?” he taunted.
“I don’t think I’d be much help in a dark alley facing a large, disgruntled man. However, I will take my role of cheering on Knight Roamer quite seriously.”
He hadn’t given his crime-fighting future much thought over the past few days. But interestingly, he was relieved that he could continue with his mission if he so desired, and it seemed that he very much wanted to.
Grinning like a fool, he helped his fiancée into the carriage.