Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9)

by Lana Williams

  With renewed enthusiasm, he wrote the letter, using the same block letters he’d used to write Millstone. Then he went outside to where Peterson stood watching the door of the room in which they’d locked the woman and the girl.

  “Do you hear that?” Peterson asked.

  Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “Hear what?”

  “An odd sort of scratching sound.”

  “Your imagination is getting the best of you. Probably nothing more than a rat.” Malcolm held out the letter. “Deliver this to Beaumont’s residence.”

  The man stared at the paper but didn’t reach for it. “I ain’t doing that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too much risk. He might see me.”

  “You don’t have to talk to the lord. Just give the note to the footman who answers the door.”

  Peterson shook his head. “I’m not digging myself any deeper into this mess you’ve got.”

  “You’ll get your fair share of the payment.”

  “I’ll watch the girl and the woman. But I’m not delivering any message.”

  Malcolm gritted his teeth. He’d obviously chosen the wrong person to help him. What he really needed was someone who followed orders without question. That sort was rare in this business from what he’d learned.

  “Should I give them some water or something?” Peterson asked.

  Malcolm bit back the urge to refuse. Perhaps that simple thing wouldn’t be so bad. “I suppose so. There’s a tank for the horses at the end of the stables but you’ll have to find a bucket.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll watch the door while you fetch it but hurry.” Malcolm wasn’t about to leave the door unattended though they were locked in.

  Peterson walked away, taking his sweet time, pausing frequently to listen. The fool had Malcolm listening too.

  Malcolm scowled. Did he think he would hear a ghost? He stuffed the letter in his pocket, resolved to having to walk to the nearby town and hire someone to deliver it. He didn’t want to do it himself.

  A rustling noise came from the opposite direction of where Peterson had gone. He turned to listen, a little shiver creeping over him. He should’ve picked a different location. How could he have guessed the deserted racetrack and stables would be so eerie? It had gotten worse since twilight had settled in. Blast Peterson for telling him about the ghost.

  He glanced down the length of the long building where Peterson had walked only to realize he’d disappeared. Had he ventured into a stable to get a bucket? The rustling sound reached him again. Was that what Peterson had heard?

  Malcolm shifted his shoulders to push away the unease. The place was probably crawling with rats from the grain brought here on race days.

  “Damned talk of ghosts,” he muttered under his breath. “Got me stirred up now too.” He glanced again toward where Johnson had disappeared, wondering what was taking him so long.

  The shadows had deepened even while he’d been standing there. The unexpected sound of a young boy’s giggle drifted toward him on the night air, causing a cold sweat to trickle down his spine. He cocked his head to listen for it again.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move. He turned to stare only to jerk in surprise when the rustling sound started again. He didn’t know which way to watch as the noises came from every direction.

  Damn and blast. Where was Peterson?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “That it may be so, should be the wish of all right-thinking men, who would break down this barrier of modern and monstrous growth, that blocks the advancement of social purity, and causes perhaps more ruin and irreparable dismay than any other two of the Curses.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Christopher watched from his hiding spot in the shadows when Connolly’s head jerked at Ronald’s giggle. The ghostly sound echoed among the buildings, making it difficult to determine from where it had come.

  The distraction was perfect, as was the rustling that followed, though he wasn’t certain what caused it. He hoped he could count on his father, who was with Ronald, to fulfill the next step of the plan.

  James had kept watch until their arrival. From what he’d observed, Charlotte and Amelia had been locked in a room halfway down the long building near where Connolly stood. Charles and James were at the opposite end by the water tank. Hopefully, they’d seen Connolly’s man approaching and could restrain him.

  Christopher drew steadily nearer to Connolly, whose form was silhouetted against the fading twilight. Uneven footsteps on the cobblestones had Connolly stiffening and served to keep the man’s attention focused away from Christopher’s approach.

  “Who’s there?” Connolly’s voice cracked as if fear were getting the better of him. “Peterson, is that you?”

  Perhaps he wouldn’t need his father to perform the next part of the plan. Connolly was already spooked enough to not notice Christopher’s approach. He moved directly behind Connolly, anger simmering within him for all the harm he’d caused. “Peterson won’t be returning.”

  Connolly spun to face him, eyes wide. “You! But how?”

  “Your game is up. The authorities are on their way.”

  Connolly reached out to shove Christopher, but Christopher was quicker and struck him in the stomach then punched him in the jaw.

  The man stumbled back before quickly regaining his balance to plow a fist into Christopher’s sore ribs. The pain stole his breath, and he hunched forward with a hiss. Connolly struck him again, but Christopher’s arms blocked the worst of the blow.

  Christopher’s anger exploded into rage—at the fear Connolly had caused Ronald, Charlotte, and Amelia. At the part he’d played in the accident that took Edward and Margaret. His pain fell away as he hit Connolly in the stomach twice then knocked him square in the chin. The man toppled backward and hit the cobblestones, unmoving.

  Christopher studied the still form for a moment before placing a hand on his side, aware of the pain once again.

  “Christopher?” Amelia’s whisper had him turning.

  “Amelia. Charlotte.” He’d never been so pleased to see someone as he was the two of them. Amelia held Charlotte’s hand and both looked disheveled with smudges of dirt on their faces and clothes.

  They rushed into his arms, and he held them tight, relief weakening his knees.

  “Are you both all right?” he asked.

  Amelia drew a shuddering breath and eased back, one hand reaching for Charlotte’s shoulder. “We’re fine, aren’t we, Charlotte?”

  The girl nodded as she sniffed, still holding onto Christopher.

  “How did you escape?”

  “Miss Tippin used a sliver of wood to raise the latch on the door.” Charlotte’s pride in Amelia’s accomplishment nearly made Christopher smile.

  “Such a clever governess,” he said.

  “Charlotte is the one who found the sliver. She—” Amelia was suddenly jerked away from him.

  Christopher spun to see Connolly holding a pistol at Amelia’s temple. His heart dropped to his knees even as he pushed Charlotte behind him. “Let her go. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

  “You’re the one who’s muddled everything.” Connolly’s agitation was clear in the roughness of his voice. “You’ve made a fine mess and now you’re going to pay for it.”

  The clip-clop of an approaching horse filled the night air along with a ghostly voice saying, “Leave me in peace.”

  Christopher opened his mouth to shout a warning to his father. The earl had waited too long, the moment for this had passed and now he was putting himself in danger.

  To his shock, Amelia spun and shoved up the distracted man’s hand that held the pistol, causing the weapon to point into the sky.

  Christopher rushed forward and grabbed Connolly’s upraised wrist as he punched him. They both fell to the ground with Connolly taking most of the impact. Christopher smashed the man’s hand that held the pistol repeatedly against the cobbles u
ntil he released it.

  Amelia rushed forward to grab the weapon and point it at Connolly. “Stay where you are.”

  His father rode close to them with Charles right behind him.

  Connolly screamed at the sight of his father, causing the horse to rear back. “The ghost! Can’t you see him?”

  His father quickly regained control of the steed then Charles took the horse’s bridle to guide it to the side and secure the reins to a post. The earl dismounted and strode forward to where Christopher held Connolly.

  “Leave me be!” the man cried, struggling against Christopher’s hold, more frightened of the ‘ghost’ than the pistol Amelia continued to aim at him.

  The earl shared a look with Christopher before leaning over Connolly. “You shall pay for your sins,” he said in the same dramatic tone he’d used earlier.

  “Yes,” Connolly agreed with a trembling breath, his face pale with terror. “Just don’t hurt me.” He watched in apparent disbelief as Charlotte came forward to hold her grandfather’s hand.

  “Why is he so scared of you?” she asked, clearly puzzled by Connolly’s reaction.

  “He thinks I’m a ghost.” His father lifted her into his arms as he turned away. “Are you all right, poppet?”

  “Yes. How is Ronald?” she asked. Their conversation continued as they walked closer to where the horse stood.

  “Damn.” Connolly went limp as he realized he hadn’t seen a ghost after all.

  “I have some rope, my lord,” Charles said as he knelt beside Christopher. “Shall we tie him up?”

  They made quick work of the task while the footman advised them that Peterson had been restrained as well and James and Ronald were guarding him at the coach.

  “Make certain they’re all right, Charles,” Christopher ordered as he took the pistol Amelia handed him.

  “Of course. I’ll return the horse to the coach as well,” Charles offered.

  His father set Charlotte down but kept hold of her hand as they all moved away, leaving Christopher and Amelia with Connolly.

  Christopher put the pistol in his pocket as he wrapped an arm around Amelia, wishing there was enough light for him to see her expression. “Well done. You were incredibly brave.”

  “It’s much easier to be brave when you’re here.” She pressed her head into his shoulder and returned his embrace before easing back to look at Connolly. “I’m very happy this is over and that the children weren’t hurt.”

  “Was Viscount Wright one of your victims?” Christopher asked though he already knew the answer.

  “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “We already know you were involved in Lyndenhall’s death. You could face murder charges if you choose not to cooperate.” Though they had no proof of the connection, Connolly didn’t know that.

  When the man hesitated, Christopher added, “I’d be happy to advise Jack McCarthy of your whereabouts. I’m sure he’ll want to know why his employee has gone missing.”

  Connolly shifted as if the threat struck home. “Wright paid for my advice at the racetrack.”

  “There’s much more to it than that.”

  “I followed him one day and realized he had some nasty habits that he might not want others to know about.” The pride in Connolly’s voice at his own cleverness sickened Christopher even as he silently cursed Edward’s behavior. “He wasn’t cooperating so I took to following his wife.”

  Christopher stiffened as cold anger swept over him.

  “The viscount spotted me a couple of times. That last day, his wife did too when she was shopping. He was angry about it, as was she. They were having quite the argument when they left in their fancy carriage. The viscount was driving fast in the traffic. Don’t blame me for what happened next.”

  “But I do,” Christopher said. “I intend to make certain you pay for your part in it.”

  A light appeared in the distance and drew steadily nearer as did several others. Within moments, Rutland stood beside Christopher and Amelia.

  “Everyone is well?” he asked, his curious gaze swinging between Christopher and Amelia in the lantern light.

  Christopher didn’t miss how Amelia took a step away before he could stop her.

  “Yes. No thanks to this one.” Christopher tipped his head toward the restrained man as he handed Rutland the man’s weapon.

  “Malcolm Connolly,” Rutland said. “The police want a few words with you.” The viscount waved for the man to be taken into custody before facing Christopher again. “They’ll need a report of what occurred, but I’ll suggest they send a man by in the morning.”

  “Thank you. I’d like to see my family home. It’s been a long day.” Christopher reached for Amelia and brought her firmly against his side, ignoring her small gasp. “May I introduce you to Miss Amelia Tippin? She was instrumental in Connolly’s capture. This is Viscount Rutland, a friend of mine.”

  Amelia curtsied awkwardly within Christopher’s hold. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” Though Christopher could see the questions in his eyes, Rutland kept them to himself. “I shall look forward to hearing the details of what occurred tomorrow as well.”

  “Of course.”

  With a nod, Rutland moved away to speak with one of the policemen, leaving Christopher with Amelia, the dark lending privacy to the moment.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. Your ribs?”

  “A bit sorer than before but I’ll be fine.” The rush of feeling that flooded him could no longer be denied. He drew her closer still, a hint of lilies drifting to him. “Thank you for all you have done for the children and for me.”

  If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her body went taut at his words, but he couldn’t understand why. Though he longed to tell her how he felt, this wasn’t the time or place. A moment or two of privacy was all he could count on right now.

  “I’m so sorry they were in danger for even a moment.” She eased back. “I should’ve been watching more closely. I—”

  “Amelia.” He placed a finger over her lips, wishing he could see her expression. “You saved them both, and me as well. For that, I will be forever grateful. Thank you.”

  He kissed her, releasing the tight hold he had on his emotions. This woman was so much more than he’d ever dreamed. He couldn’t wait to return home to tell her how he felt. How much he loved her.

  Love. The more often he thought it, the more he welcomed it. The way she’d rushed into his arms reassured him that she might feel the same, creating a longing so deep that he could barely breathe. He poured it into the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers briefly.

  “Let us return home,” he said.

  Whatever her expression might’ve told him remained hidden by the dark for now. He refused to worry about her lack of an answer.

  ~*~

  Amelia paced the library where a fire burned cheerfully, hoping Christopher would soon return from calling on Millstone. She’d stayed with the children while they’d eaten, then tucked them into bed. Though they were exhausted from the events of the day, it had taken time for them to settle into sleep. Sally watched over them now.

  The hour was late. Perhaps she should simply retire. She and Christopher could talk tomorrow. By then, everyone’s emotions would’ve calmed, including her own. The fact that he’d kissed her and held her tightly in front of Rutland could be blamed on the heat of the moment. She shouldn’t place too much importance on those acts.

  Yet she desperately wanted to see Christopher, to know that he was well.

  But then what?

  She paused to stare out the window into the night, wondering if there was any way to set aside her love for Christopher. Could she return to simply being a governess here? As much as she’d hoped for more, reality had set in when he’d introduced her to Viscount Rutland, making her realize that a future for them was impossible.

  She was no one.

&n
bsp; For heaven’s sake, she’d worked as a maid before serving as a governess. Her father had been a knight and bestowed a title rather than inherited one. Many would consider her family nothing more than upstarts. She could never hope to be a member of the ton. Word would spread of her background. The thought of bringing embarrassment to Christopher or his family was appalling.

  Where did that leave her?

  Could she consider some other relationship with Christopher? His mistress, perhaps? Her feelings for him made it tempting. Her longing to be with him—to show him how much she loved him—almost outweighed all else.

  Almost.

  But as she’d tucked Charlotte and Ronald into bed, the image of doing so with her own children struck her. Christopher’s children.

  Such a dream would never be possible if she were his mistress. Yet she could never be his wife.

  If she were smart, she’d pack her bag and go. But she wouldn’t leave without telling the children. And Christopher. Was that it then? Had she made her decision?

  She turned to pace the room again only to see the man who consumed her thoughts.

  “Christopher.”

  He smiled as he reached for her hand and pulled her close. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “Of course not.” She only wished she were someone else. Someone who deserved him. The thought had her blinking back tears. She lifted her hand to his cheek, drinking in the sight of him. “How did the marquess take the news?”

  “Millstone was very relieved. I have hope that he and the marchioness will call on us soon. How are Charlotte and Ronald?”

  “They’re safe and sound, asleep in their beds.”

  “What of my father?”

  “He seemed to take great pleasure in telling Lady Beaumont and Miss Singh of the events. Then he returned to his lab, saying the evening gave him several ideas for new inventions.”

  Christopher smiled. “It sounds as if he’s put the excitement of the day behind him. I wouldn’t have succeeded without him and Ronald this evening. I owe that to you.”

  “Me?” She stared at him in surprise.

  “I wouldn’t have dared to trust him if it weren’t for you. You’ve given me back my father.”