Chapter Seven
There had always been a banked fire of independent will deep within Cassandra. Who could have foreseen it would be stoked to life at the hands of a servant?
Although Reuben Evans was not merely a servant.
As she fixed her cloak, Cassandra stole a quiet glance at the man waiting by the door.
Reuben’s stiff posture and grim expression gave her no comfort that this was the correct course of action.
She had been the one to demand to meet with the Lord of Devil’s Acre.
What madness had gripped her to agree to such an arrangement?
Reuben had refused to give her any details of the agreement between her late husband and the notorious crime lord. He denied any knowledge of the particulars, and yet Cassandra could read the subtle shift in Reuben’s demeanor when she’d pressed him for details. He knew more than he admitted.
Which only solidified her determination to have the truth directly from the source.
After Cassandra had found the documents had mysteriously vanished at the same time as Reuben’s absence, she’d decided not to confront Reuben on the details of his past. Instead, she’d taken it upon herself to forge a new path.
A quiet afternoon stroll through Kensington Gardens had done wonders for her mental wellbeing.
There’d been no prying eyes, no forced pleasantries, and a labyrinth of tree-lined avenues where she could wander without interruption.
It gave her ample time to ponder her position and this frightening new revelation.
Cassandra had known nearly nothing about James when they’d married, and even less as the years had passed during their union.
But to uncover such secrets after his death had left her in a deep state of confusion—and dread.
There were now more questions than answers, and Cassandra was determined to uncover them all.
After an hour in the gardens, she stopped at a small bakery to warm herself with some hot chocolate and then returned home, ready to confront Reuben. But what she had not expected was to find him waiting for her in the study where they had indulged in reckless carnal delight.
Reuben caught her gaze, and she warmed—mostly from the layers she wore in preparation to step out into the November chill.
“Our carriage awaits, Your Grace.” Reuben stepped aside as the footman opened the door.
With a sniff, she exited the house with a resolute determination.
No matter what transpired during this meeting, she would remain composed and keep her wits about her.
Whispers of the Bloody Talons abounded through the dark streets of London finding their way to the papers and gossip rags.
Their reputation was fearsome, and none would dare cross them.
Reuben dismissed the footman and stepped forward to hold the carriage door and help her into the conveyance. Even through two layers of fabric, her skin burned at his touch. When he closed the door, she frowned at his decision to ride outside the carriage.
His insistence to maintain a strained semblance of decorum nagged at the back of her mind.
While it was wise for them to not be seen in public together in such an obvious manner, part of her wanted his presence—his companionship.
Even though Reuben infuriated her with his secrets, he had given her no reason to doubt his loyalty.
A loyalty she would soon realize could be tested. Would he choose her or the Lord of Devil’s Acre? She shook her head to clear the burning thoughts as the carriage wove through the streets heading toward Westminster.
Cassandra stared, unseeing, out the carriage window. Her mind raced with questions and possibilities. A nervous flutter began in the pit of her stomach, leaving her with doubts as to the wisdom of this confrontation. By the time the carriage had stopped, she swore.
There could be nothing for it. She would face this devil head-on and demand answers.
The door swung open, revealing Reuben’s stony expression. The flutter of nerves disappeared, transitioning into a delightful kettle of warmth that radiated through her body. Even twisted in this mask of displeasure and indifference, the man was stunningly handsome. To the point of distraction.
“Into the lion’s den?” he asked as she stepped down beside him.
Her grip on his hand tightened. A gentle squeeze in response eased her uncertainty.
“Lead the way, Evans.” Cassandra released his hand, and disappointment flooded her.
Reuben took the lead, keeping two steps ahead. They stopped on the steps of an innocuous brick building tucked into the twisting streets of Devil’s Acre. He knocked twice, paused, then knocked three more times.
Cassandra shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders as they waited on the landing. What madness had brought her so low? She cursed James just as the door opened.
Inside, the hall seemed warm and comfortable, not unwelcoming, even with the dark woods and distinctive lack of artistic ornamentation.
“He is waiting in the parlor,” the somber butler said with a bow, gesturing to the room on his right. “I shall bring tea.”
“Thank you, Finn.” Reuben nodded and the man ventured down the dark hall, leaving them alone. He glanced at Cassandra. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“There shall be no more secrets.” Cassandra unclasped her cloak and handed it to the footman.
A smile broke through his stoic expression. “As you wish, madam.” He watched the footman place their outer garments on a rack by the front door before joining her. “After you,” he said, gesturing to the room where the Lord of Devil’s Acre waited for their arrival.
A tall man stood before the fireplace. His long, raven-black hair was pulled back into a tidy queue at the nape of his neck.
Broad shoulders fit in the finest tailored suit.
He turned, his eyes piercing, fixing on her face with curiosity.
With an incline of his head, he acknowledged her presence.
The Lord of Devil’s Acre cut an imposing figure full of mystery and intrigue.
She could not help but wonder if the whispers of his ruthless and violent nature were to be believed.
“Sir.” Reuben cleared his throat. “Her Grace, Cassandra Sterling, Dowager Duchess of Tolland.”
“I know who she is.” Their host bowed. “An honor to finally meet you in person, Your Grace.”
“Likewise.” Cassandra regarded him for a long moment before nodding. “I see no reason to stand on ceremony. What business did you have with my late husband?”
The lord seemed stunned by her abrupt question, but he recovered quickly. “I heard you were quick of wit and as sharp as a rapier. How delightful that the rumors were true.”
“If I were to believe the rumors about the indomitable Lord of Devil’s Acre, I would have expected the heads of your enemies to line the walls and your face to be smeared with blood.” She forced a smile to hide her false bravado. “I am quite disappointed.”
The Lord of Devil’s Acre bowed in respect, and Cassandra found herself momentarily stunned by the mysterious man with the reprehensible reputation. By the saints, why was he so handsome?
“Come, sit.” The lord indicated the settee beside the fire.
The butler appeared with tea and an assortment of cakes, placing them on the table before the dowager duchess. Once he’d taken his leave, Cassandra sat, eyeing both Reuben and his other employer.
Reuben remained standing beside her, his presence comforting in a strange way.
Her host sat on the chair opposite. He poured tea for her, preparing it to her exact liking without even asking her preference.
She sipped the brew, enjoying the rich beverage and allowing the warmth to fortify her courage.
“Now, then.” The lord leaned back in his chair. “Pose your questions.”
“What business dealings did you have with the previous Duke of Tolland?”
“Are you sure you wish to know the answer to that, madam?”
Cassandra squared her shoulders and set her tea aside. “Seeing as you found it necessary to place a spy in my home, where he resided for the past seven years, then yes, I believe I am entitled to know.”
The lord regarded Reuben for a brief moment before nodding.
“Very well. Your late husband incurred several debts that he could not pay. He came to me in desperation, requesting I consolidate them and extend the terms of the debt to give him more time to repay. I did, but I also took the necessary steps to ensure that my leniency was not abused.”
“Reuben Evans.” Cassandra remained firm, unable to look at the man beside her. But this response was too simple, too tidy. “I surmised as much.” Her gaze narrowed on the crime lord. “But that does nothing to explain the documents and clippings I found in my husband’s desk.”
The lord shifted, straightening in the chair, his gaze fixed on her face, searching—assessing. “What conclusion did you draw from these items?”
“My husband was not a kind or gentle man. He—well, the details matter not, but it would not surprise me in the slightest if he had indiscretions that left him vulnerable to blackmail or worse.”
The lord stroked his jaw, his expression indifferent. “You are perceptive.”
“I tire of the secrets and lies, sir. Tell me the truth.”
His brow arched. “Are you certain you are strong enough to bear the burden of it?”
“I am.” Cassandra nodded firmly.
“Your late husband brokered some unsavory alliances in his life. He pursued his pleasures where he could find them, and in some instances, the results were—deadly.”
Cassandra stifled a gasp. It should not have surprised her, but hearing the words aloud from someone other than Reuben solidified their truth in her mind. She folded her trembling hands in her lap.
“In these instances, it became apparent his title and status guaranteed him immunity from the consequences of his actions. And yet there were those who sought to exploit their knowledge of his misdeeds. He ensured these inconveniences were removed.”