Chapter 1 #2
“We’re going to be fine,” Louise said firmly. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
“You always make everything better.” Emily snuggled in. “I wish I could make it all better for you one day.”
“You already do, darling,” Louise held her sister tighter, feeling the trust in her small body.
Tomorrow night, she would walk into Bragg’s trap. She would do whatever was necessary to keep Emily safe.
And she would pray that the Duke of Calborough was the honorable man his reputation suggested, not the rake Bragg seemed to believe him to be.
Either way, by tomorrow night, her fate would be sealed.
The sound of the servants stirring below reminded her that there were immediate concerns to address.
She pressed a kiss to Emily’s forehead.
“Stay here while I see to the household. I’ll send Mrs. Fielding up with warm milk and a biscuit.”
“Two biscuits?” Emily’s voice wobbled a bit.
Louise stroked her sister’s hair. “Fine. Two biscuits, but then straight into bed.”
Louise descended to find chaos. Their butler, Mr. Hartley, sported a darkening bruise on his jaw. Two of their remaining housemaids huddled together in tears while Mrs. Fielding attempted to restore order with sharp commands and hot tea.
“My lady,” Mr. Hartley began, his dignity intact despite his injury. “I must apologize for allowing those criminals—”
“You have nothing to apologize for. Are you badly hurt?”
“Nothing that won’t mend, my lady.”
Louise surveyed their small, loyal staff. They were all that remained of what had once been a grand household. “I need you all to listen carefully. Those men will probably return. If they do, offer no resistance. Your safety is worth more than any possession in this house.”
“But my lady,” Mrs. Fielding protested. “Surely we should notify the authorities?”
“With what proof? And also risk Mr. Bragg’s ire? No. He would destroy us.” Louise kept her voice steady, even though despair threatened to overwhelm her. “We weather this as we have everything else. Together with hope that our circumstances will improve.”
She saw the doubt in their eyes, but also the loyalty. These few had stayed when they could have sought positions elsewhere, when their wages had dwindled to almost nothing.
“For now, secure the house as best you can. And keep Emily occupied tomorrow evening. I’ll be attending to some business that may help our situation.”
Mrs. Fielding’s eyes sharpened. She alone might guess what kind of business Bragg would demand, but she held her tongue.
Louise retreated to her father’s study. It was George’s study now, but he rarely used it. The ledgers told their shameful story in neat columns of red ink. Properties sold, jewels pawned, staff dismissed.
And now this revelation of money owed to a criminal.
The ledger’s columns blurred before Louise’s eyes.
Eight thousand pounds. The number mocked her from George’s careless notations, each entry a step closer to ruin. She closed the book and pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to quiet the chaos in her mind.
Tomorrow night. Bragg’s deadline loomed like an executioner’s blade.
She had no choice. No options. No savior waiting in the wings.
For Emily, she reminded herself. Everything for Emily.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten. Louise rose from her father’s desk on unsteady legs and climbed the stairs to check on her sister one last time. Emily slept peacefully, her small hand curled beneath her cheek, her breathing soft and even. Moonlight silvered her copper curls.
Louise stood in the doorway, memorizing the sight.
Tomorrow, everything would change. She would become something she never imagined. Something tarnished and compromised.
But Emily would be safe.
The following night, a black carriage appeared at precisely eleven o’clock.
Louise descended Sulton House’s front steps in her mother’s emerald gown, the finest piece remaining in her wardrobe.
The silk whispered against her legs as she moved, cold air biting through the thin fabric.
She had spent an hour on her appearance, pinning her hair into elaborate curls, applying the faintest touch of rouge to cheeks that kept draining of color.
Memorable, Bragg had demanded.
She felt like a lamb dressed for slaughter.
The carriage door swung open before she reached it. Bragg’s face emerged from the shadows within, his smile all teeth and satisfaction.
“Punctual. I do appreciate that in a woman.” He extended a gloved hand. “Climb in. We have business to conduct.”
Louise accepted his help, suppressing a shudder at his touch. The carriage interior smelled of cigar smoke and something sour beneath it.
Fear, perhaps. Or greed.
They rattled through London’s streets, the darkness outside the windows broken only by occasional gaslight. Bragg watched her with the patience of a spider who had already wrapped its prey.
“You understand what’s required?”
“You’ve made yourself quite clear.”
“Have I?” He leaned forward, close enough that she could see the broken veins mapping his nose.
“The Duke of Calborough will be in a private suite at White’s this evening.
Room twelve, at the back of the upper floor.
I’ve arranged for him to receive a message that will bring him there at half past eleven. ”
Louise’s stomach turned. “And I’m to be waiting.”
“Like a gift.” Bragg’s tongue darted across his lower lip. “You’ll ensure he stays. Engage his attention. Be accommodating.”
“You want me to seduce him.”
“I want you to give me leverage.” His voice hardened. “I don’t care how you accomplish it. Tears, temptation, or throwing yourself at his feet. But when I enter that room in one hour’s time, the Duke of Calborough will be in a compromising position. With you.”
The carriage slowed. Louise glimpsed a narrow alley, a servants’ entrance, shadows that seemed to swallow the light.
“What happens after?”
“After is not your concern.” Bragg rapped on the carriage roof. “Your concern is your sister. Your concern is doing exactly as I say. Do we understand each other?”
Louise thought of Emily sleeping peacefully in her bed. Of the terror in her small face when Bragg’s men had invaded their home. Of what would happen if she failed.
“We understand each other.”
“Excellent.” The carriage door opened, revealing a thin man in dark clothes waiting beside the alley entrance. “Mr. Finch will escort you inside. Remember, one hour. Make it count.”
Louise stepped out into the cold, and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.
The thin man gestured toward the servants’ door without a word.
She followed him through a cramped corridor that smelled of grease and wine, up a narrow staircase, past doors behind which masculine laughter and the clink of glasses suggested entertainments she had no wish to imagine.
Finally, he stopped before a door marked with a small brass plate: 12.
“Wait inside.” His voice scraped like rust. “Don’t try to leave.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Louise stood alone in a private suite more luxurious than anything left in Sulton House. Velvet curtains in deep burgundy. A fire crackled in the marble hearth. Crystal decanters glinted on a sideboard. And a chaise longue positioned with obvious intent near the room’s center.
Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror above the mantel. A stranger stared back. A woman in emerald silk with desperate eyes and trembling hands.
You can do this, she told herself. You must do this.
She moved to the sideboard and poured whisky into a glass, hoping the burn might steady her nerves. She coughed, eyes watering, and set the glass aside.
Think of Emily. Think of Emily. Think of Emily.
Minutes crawled past. The fire popped. Shadows danced across the walls.
Then footsteps approached in the corridor outside. Measured. Confident. The stride of a man who expected the world to accommodate his presence.
Louise’s heart slammed against her ribs. She smoothed her skirts with damp palms and lifted her chin, summoning every scrap of courage she possessed.
The handle turned.
The door swung open.
And Louise forgot how to breathe.
The man who filled the doorway was nothing like she had imagined.
Tall, impossibly so, with shoulders that seemed to block out the corridor behind him.
Brown hair swept back from a face that might have been carved from granite, all sharp angles and shadowed planes.
A close-trimmed beard framed lips pressed into a firm line.
But it was his eyes that arrested her. Blue as a winter sky, and just as cold. They swept the room with the precision of a general surveying a battlefield before landing on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
The Duke of Calborough.
He was magnificent. And terrifying.
“What are you doing here?”