Chapter 8
8
Charles needed to leave before Drake or Killian spoke to him. The fool of a man was just as likely to blab precious secrets Liam needed to keep in the shadows as he was to infect them all with whatever disease crawled through his system.
Liam glared at the baron’s son. ‘Don’t you have some important errands to run, Charles?’ The young man stumbled in his haste to get away from Drake and Killian, clearly intimidated by the imposing men.
‘Hopefully one of them includes a bath.’ Killian’s gaze rudely swept from the top of Charles’ oily head to the bottom of his scuffed, heeled dancing shoes.
Charles gave a final glance to Liam’s pocket where the letters bulged – his hand still pressed against his bleeding mouth – before he nodded. Spinning shakily, he wove through the crowded coffee house to the street beyond.
Before Liam could stand and greet his friends, Killian took Charles’ vacated chair and Drake pulled another one over from the nearest table, much to the bluster of the man about to sit in it. One glare from the scarred major general had the man stuttering an apology and looking for a different table entirely, far from Drake.
Liam pointed to Charles’ mug. ‘I would get a fresh mug if I were you. I’m not confident whatever Charles has isn’t catching.’
Killian moved the mug to the edge of the table and winked at his friend. ‘Wasn’t that Barrington’s son? I’m sure his father would be highly disappointed to see young Charles hanging out with a reprobate like you, Liam. Rumours in the beau monde abound about your devilry.’
Liam snorted. ‘I’ve no doubt the baron is disappointed in his son, but I hardly think it has anything to do with me.’ Liam noted the subtle changes in his two friends as he watched them over his coffee mug. He hadn’t seen Killian and Drake in over a year. They were two men who knew the darkness of Liam’s soul because they carried their own demons.
A long-forgotten feeling effused Liam. Comradery and the warmth of friendship. He’d almost forgotten the joy of being with two souls so similar to his own. There were a few more streaks of silver in Killian’s black hair. New wrinkles fanned around Drake’s eyes. But what was most notable was the air of contentment each man exuded. They seemed… happy. And he found himself happy for them, though he was curious to understand how they had vanquished their demons.
What has changed in the last year?
Killian and Drake had married, but that couldn’t possibly be the reason. How could men like himself, brothers in arms, partners in sin, ever find peace?
‘What the devil are you doing with him?’ Drake thrust his chin in the direction Charles had scampered. He was never one to waste time on niceties.
Liam shrugged. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal. These men were still probably his closest friends, but they worked for the prime minister. He knew this, because he had been with them when Prime Minister Russell had offered Killian and Drake positions. He had offered one to Liam as well. But the Queen got to Liam first. And one certainly did not refuse Her Majesty. While they all fought for the same goal, they employed very different methods.
Drake and Killian hadn’t understood Liam’s refusal of service. It drove a wedge in their friendship. But he could hardly betray the Queen’s confidence. So, he worked to drive the wedge deeper.
They had survived hell together. Knew everything about each other. Stood on the brink of madness and held firm, refusing to let any one of them fall into the abyss unless they all went. It would be impossible to keep secrets from them if he maintained his friendship. When Liam began his search for Theodore, only a few months after they returned from the Anglo–Afghan war, it was easy to let his ties with Killian and Drake fade and blame it on the search for his half-brother. So, he let them disappear from his life, ignoring how much he missed them until now. Sitting opposite them, it was so easy to slip back into their easy conversation and pretend the four years had never happened.
‘I owe you an apology, Drake. I meant to come to your wedding celebrations, but I couldn’t leave?—’
Drake waved a hand in dismissal, cutting off Liam’s excuses – which was a blessing. They knew about Theodore. The beau monde had been fairly buzzing when news erupted that the Marquess of Stoneway had a bastard brother, and even more scandalous, he’d taken the sick man into his home to nurse him. People couldn’t decide if it was heroic, or an unforgiveable breach of etiquette. Killian and Drake had both reached out to Liam, but he hadn’t time to respond to them before first Reynard then Theo passed.
Drake’s rough voice pulled Liam back to the present. ‘You don’t owe me a thing, least of all an apology. I only wish things had ended differently. Reynard…’ The gruff man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘It was an accident, Drake. A stupid misfiring of his hunting rifle. Hardly your fault.’ Liam knew the truth of his brother’s death, but he couldn’t share that with his friend. He couldn’t relieve his friend of the obvious guilt Drake felt for playing a role in Reynard’s death. Because to do so would be admitting that Liam was working with the Queen. He knew about the investigations his friends were entangled in to ferret out the leaders of the Devil’s Sons. They were all working to infiltrate the same evil group from the opposite side of the law, but Liam must keep his role secret.
‘Damn it, Liam. The last thing any of us wanted was for Reynard to die.’ Drake rarely showed emotions. The pain flashing in his pale eyes was akin to an emotional breakdown in any other man.
Liam ran his hand through his hair. It was too long and needed a trim, but he couldn’t be damned. ‘But you couldn’t have stopped it, Drake. No one could.’ It wasn’t a complete admission of Reynard’s true end, but it was the closest he could come to alleviating some of Drake’s guilt.
Liam couldn’t stop the double-edged sword of grief and anger that sliced through him when he thought of his brother. Not anger toward Drake. But rather focused directly on his brother. Reynard hadn’t been strong enough to fight the sickness swimming in their blood. A deadly disease passed onto them by their father. And the fool was too stubborn to ask for help or accept what support was offered. ‘You know we were never close, as I’d hoped we might become. I only wish I could have done more for him.’ The words rang hollow in Liam’s ears as a burn spread over his chest, up his neck, and coloured his cheeks in shades of shame.
Killian smacked his hand on the table. ‘You did what you could, Liam. Punishing yourself for the distance between you helps no one. Reynard is gone now, but you are here. We are here. And we… well, we…’ Killian looked around the crowded room. ‘Where the hell is that coffee boy?’ Raising his arm, Killian flagged the young man down and ordered two mugs of coffee for himself and Drake.
Liam knew what Killian was trying to say. He missed his friends as well. But he still had secrets he must keep.
An errant image of Miss Smith flitted through his mind. It struck him, the women being targeted by the Devil’s Sons were part of her social sphere. Young maids looking for a future in the grand houses of England’s wealthiest families. Just the thought of Penny being drugged, nailed into a coffin, and forced into a life of prostitution filled him with rage so raw, he feared he might lose control. He needed to spend less time obsessing over bedding her and more time devoted to destroying a group of men threatening women just like her.
Despite his determination to reframe his thoughts, she lingered there just as the maddening scent of vanilla and cloves lingered in his room after she made his bed, the trace of her fingerprints lingered on the desk after she polished his study, a stray mahogany hair lingered on the pillow after she thumped it to plumpness in his sitting room. He felt her presence everywhere, like a ghost. Even here in the coffee house, talking to his closest friends about his brother’s death. He wished he could share with them his dilemma. They had both found happiness in unusual unions; perhaps they might have wisdom to guide Liam. But his obsession with Miss Smith was one more secret best kept to himself.
He shook his head, refocusing on the men in front of him instead of the woman crowding his thoughts.
‘Speaking of sins, there are rumours circulating about you, Liam.’ Drake’s closely cropped blond hair caught the light, shining like a halo for a man decidedly more dragon than angel.
Liam raised his brow. ‘Since when did you listen to the gossips, Drake? Has marriage softened you so quickly?’
‘Contrary to my own opinions, marriage has only improved me.’
‘How is that possible when you’ve always claimed to be perfect?’ Killian smiled at his friend, deftly avoiding the spoon thrown at his head.
Drake winced as the pewter cutlery clattered against a wall, barely missing an older gentleman with a prodigious nose. The man shouted in surprise and looked around in vain for the culprit. Drake glared at Killian before returning his gaze to Liam. ‘I never claimed to be perfect. But I was accustomed to my life until I met Millie. The stubborn, gorgeous woman convinced me life could be more than just a quiet study in control.’
‘She has to be stubborn to put up with an old dragon like yourself and not run screaming for the hills. In that way, you two are perfectly matched.’ Killian raised a brow at his friend while he raised his hand to fend off any more flying spoons. ‘Though in beauty and wit, she far surpasses you.’
‘She certainly does.’ Drake toyed with the handle of his mug. He spared his friend a glacial stare before returning his focus to Liam. ‘I’m serious, Liam. People are talking. And not just idle whispers from silly girls at a ball. The prime minister and Commissioner Worthington have taken note. There are rumours you might be seeking entrance into a certain secret fraternity.’
Liam sipped his coffee. He wasn’t about to divulge any information his friends didn’t already know. While he trusted Killian and Drake with his life, he also knew their dedication to justice delivered in the traditional method. They believed the House of Lords would fairly try these men and deliver punishment. Liam – much like the Queen and Philippa – held no such faith in his peers. Time and again, man had proven his susceptibility to power and corruption.
If Killian and Drake knew Liam’s plans, they would work against him. Not to protect the Devil’s Sons, but to protect their understanding of justice. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Because his vendetta against the Devil’s Sons was personal. To atone for his brother’s sins, to protect women like Penny. To reclaim a part of his soul sacrificed so many years ago. He had once fought for his father’s approval, and then his country’s. Now, he fought for his own honour.
When it became obvious Liam wasn’t going to volunteer any information, Drake slammed his mug on the table, coffee spilling onto the wood and staining it dark brown. ‘Damn it, Liam. They’ve both come to us asking exactly what your ties might be to a society of which your brother claimed membership. The Devil’s Sons.’
Liam cocked his head and quirked his brow with exaggerated curiosity. ‘With a name like that, you’d think I would remember joining, but you know how one’s memory can play tricks as we age.’
Killian leaned forward, the scrape of his chair almost lost in the cacophony of male conversations swirling around them. ‘This isn’t a joke, Liam. These men are dangerous. Their actions are diabolical, and they will stop at nothing to ensure their power remains unchallenged.’
‘We know you, Liam. You would never join these men if you knew the truth. Their activities are a vile affront to human decency.’ Drake’s icy-blue eyes narrowed.
‘Were you told of your brother’s involvement? His part in procuring innocent girls to sell in Europe’s flesh markets, all to fill the coffers of these bastards?’ Killian and Drake had perfected their skills at rapid-fire questions. But Liam was familiar with such tactics.
Still, acrid anger burned up Liam’s throat, filling his mouth with the taste of iron and ash. He hated that his friends suspected him of such horrifying actions even as he needed them to believe him guilty of exactly what they feared. ‘I was informed. Yes.’
Drake raised an eyebrow. ‘So, what game are you playing at, Liam?’
Killian leaned forward, his jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth. A lesser man would confess all manner of sins under such a sharp glare. ‘Should we believe these rumours? That you have fallen so far?’
Liam leaned back, pretending nonchalance. He was being given a powerful opportunity here. If Killian and Drake stood with him, the Devil’s Sons would never allow him entrance into their society. His friend’s actions of late made it clear they were seeking out the leaders of this horrific fraternity. Both the Queen and Philippa believed the influence of the Devil’s Sons had infiltrated the government. The Devil’s spies could possibly include members of the metropolitan police or even the prime minister and commissioner. Men Drake and Killian trusted implicitly.
Liam’s connection or distance from Killian and Drake could make the difference between the Devil’s Sons trusting him or denying him entrance. If Liam could set himself apart from his honourable friends, convince them he was truly seeking membership into the Devil’s Sons, that information would find its way back to the Crow, the Wolf, and the Snake, proving his moral flexibility to these fucking monsters. And once they accepted him into their ranks, he could complete the last step of his plan and burn these bastards to the ground.
‘You are both intelligent men. The prime minister’s chosen few. I imagine you can form your own conclusions.’ It was an evasive answer.
He saw the disappointment in Killian’s gaze and the suspicion in Drake’s.
‘I have formed a conclusion. You’re up to something.’ Drake tapped his fingers on the table.
Liam stretched his face into a false smile. ‘You’ve figured me out, Drake. I am up to something quite nefarious. I’m having a masque.’
Drake’s face twisted as though he’d bitten into an unripe berry.
Killian just shook his head.
Liam’s smile was real as he enjoyed his friend’s obvious discomfort. Killian never minded a social event, but Drake loathed them. Liam continued. ‘A welcome back to society fete, if you will. I hope you’ll both attend. I would love to meet your wives. Women able to tame such beasts? I can’t imagine.’ Liam stood, hating the distance he’d created between himself and the two men who were closer to him than his own brother ever was. But this aloofness was a necessary evil. If he survived this mission, they would understand. If he didn’t, their pain at his loss would be lessened by their suspicions.
‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, Liam, but be careful.’ Drake fingered the gruesome scar that ran from his left brow down to the right side of his jaw.
‘No battles are won alone, Liam. When you’re ready, we’re here.’ Killian added, nodding at his friend.
Liam’s heart ached as he turned and walked away. Because in this fight, it was imperative he remain completely alone.
Upon leaving the prison, Penny stopped at a hawker stand selling apples. Sparing a half penny, she took three apples and found a reasonably clean stoop where she could sit. She shouldn’t have indulged in such extravagance, but she had skipped her morning meal and was famished. Also, she wasn’t ready to return to Liam’s house. Not yet. Not until she had settled her nerves after her unexpected battle with the guard.
She watched the happenings of the street and breathed deep the soot-filled air. A brisk wind blew, and Penny squinted at the sky. The rain wasn’t far off now. If she didn’t hurry, she would get caught in the downpour. But still, she tarried. The calls of the hawkers created a soothing background noise. A cheeky dog was slinking along the street, sneaking between stands to steal what treats he could before being chased away. Three young children, their sex obscured by loose-fitting clothes, shaggy hair, and a copious amount of grime covering their features, played a game in the stoop opposite Penny. A circle had been drawn in the dirt and they were taking turns flicking rocks. When one landed in the circle, a cheer went up amongst them. Such a simple moment of pleasure that reminded Penny of her youth. Children were always ready to find joy even in the worst circumstances. It was a skill she had lost as she aged.
Her hand shook as she lifted the apple to her mouth and took a satisfying bite, the crunch cheering her as a burst of sweet, tart juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped at it with the back of her hand, contentedly munching.
She must face some hard truths. Penny had spent the past week avoiding Liam. Because every time they were close to one another, she wanted to attack the man. But not the way she attacked the guard.
Taking another bite, she admitted – if only to herself – she wanted to ravish Liam. Explore his hard, muscular body and let him explore hers. Which was troubling enough, but even more worrisome was her desire to know him. To understand the inner workings of his mind. And the insistent voice questioning his guilt. Even now, it harassed her.
You are a silly, silly woman, Penny Smith.
Because knowing Liam would only lead to liking him. He was so different from the cold, cruel lord she had imagined before he arrived in his Belgrave mansion, but he was also still her enemy. His support of the Vagrancy Act kept her mother in the prison. And the letters she found proved his connection to the Devil’s Sons.
But that was part of the problem. Because outside of those two damning facts, nothing about Liam’s actions hinted at a man capable of such evil. He puzzled her exceedingly.
A maid spent much of her time observing the lords and ladies for whom she worked. During her time in service, Penny discovered it was the little moments that often defined someone as cruel or kind. And in all of Liam’s little moments, she found no evidence matching that of a cold, calculated trafficker of women.
Molly – the laundry maid and Penny’s roommate – told her about dropping a waistcoat in the dirt as she was pulling down laundry from the line. Liam must have been returning from the stables when her blunder occurred. A fine blue silk waistcoat with gold thread. Instead of ignoring the girl, or yelling at her as many lords might, he bent down and picked up waistcoat. Molly said he shook it out and said it looked clean enough for him. When he placed it in her basket, the girl almost burst into tears, she was that grateful.
Penny was standing next to Mrs Harding in the dining room the morning Liam told his housekeeper of the masque he intended to throw. When she enquired about the timeline and Liam told her it was to be the next week, the astute woman hadn’t hidden her apprehension quickly enough. It was a prodigious amount of work to be completed with such a fast-approaching deadline. He put a hand on Mrs Harding’s arm and reassured her that whatever she did would be perfect. The hardened housekeeper had actually blushed like a young girl in braids. Blushed!
In a most astounding act, Coggins had informed the entire staff during supper the night after Penny’s fateful meeting in the library that a tutor would be provided for all staff wanting to improve their education. He would be available once a week during the supper hour in the conservatory. The servants could take their meal there and spend an hour studying if they wished. By the curl of Coggins’ lip and his clipped words, it was clear the man thought the idea stupid, but Molly and Penny had both determined to meet in the conservatory on the following Thursday, and they weren’t alone. Penny guessed Coggins would be eating by himself every week. That, at least, would please the man.
To think, I might actually learn to read.
Penny couldn’t fathom the idea. Nor could she admit she might be the cause of such a generous offer.
How could a man so willing to help those beneath him in status and power be guilty of horrendous crimes against servant girls?
It made no sense. It also made it nearly impossible for Penny to fight her attraction to the marquess.
Pocketing the other two apples next to her brass knuckles, Penny stood, brushed out her skirts, buttoned her thin coat tightly against the miserable weather and struck out in the direction of Belgrave Square. Not having enough coin for a return ride home on the omnibus, she had a long walk. Penny gauged the black storm clouds. It hadn’t started raining yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Minutes or moments. She started walking southwest. She didn’t notice the two men emerging from an alley to follow her. One of them still had blood on his face from a recently broken nose.
Liam stared out of the brougham window, grateful he chose not to ride his horse to the coffee house. The mercurial spring weather which seemed rather pleasant only a few hours earlier unleashed a torrent of rain and wind, turning the late morning dark and dreary. His errant thoughts wandered to Miss Smith. When she had left his house so early in the morning, she wore only a thin coat and some ridiculously beaten-up straw hat. Hardly clothing to keep a person warm and dry in such horrendous weather. Not that it mattered. But Liam shifted uncomfortably on the velvet seats, the blanket next to him mocking his imaginings of a cold, shivering Miss Smith.
Oh, the ways he could warm her pale skin until it glowed rosy and pink. With his mouth. His hands. His body.
Liam cursed his hardening cock. ‘She is not for me. She does not want me.’
But even as he spoke the words aloud, his mind replayed the way her body had melted into him when he drew her close in the library, the echo of his piano’s song hanging in the air like mist. Her lips parting ever so slightly, welcoming him into her depths. It was Liam who pulled away that fateful night. Not Miss Smith. She might not like him, but she was drawn to Liam with the same powerful force tugging his thoughts toward her. Would he retreat now if he was given the same opportunity?
Not bloody likely.
So it was good there was no chance of him finding himself alone with Miss Smith. They both seemed intent on avoiding each other.
The brougham slowed as traffic became glutted from rutted roads. Liam leaned against the squabs and exhaled, willing his body to relent. The figure of a woman caught his eye through the window, the familiar twitch of her hips causing a corresponding hitch in his breath.
Miss Smith.
Had his thoughts conjured her from the rain and mud? Or perhaps he was transposing Miss Smith’s form onto a different woman.
He caught a glimpse of her profile beneath the brim of her hat. Lips pressed together in a determined line. Cheeks grown pink from the cold wind.
Definitely Miss Smith.
She was hardly a figment of his imagination. What the bloody hell was his maid doing in such a rough part of London and so far from Belgrave Square? As Liam narrowed his eyes, his focus solely on the compact woman striding down the sodden street, he almost missed the two men lurking close behind her. Until one of them reached out and grabbed Miss Smith’s arm, tugging her roughly out of view and down a narrow, darkened alley. The second man looked both ways before following his crony, confident no one noticed.
He was wrong.
Liam fucking noticed.
The brougham lurched to a near stop as the carriage in front of them hit a rut so deep, the wheel almost cracked.
Liam opened the door and leaped out.
‘Sir!’ His startled driver’s cry was stolen by the gust of wind. Running back toward the alley, Liam’s feet beat a hasty rhythm matching that of his heart.
Penny, Penny, Penny!
Liam pumped his legs faster, his boots barely slapping against the pavement. He must reach her in time.
Penny, Penny, Penny!