Ian’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved away from the table. “I’m not your lapdog, Spencer. Get it yourself.”
Felix grinned. If that was one thing guaranteed to put him in a chipper mood – aside from finally getting Felicity in his bed – it was antagonizing his fellow Runners. “Go home to your wife then. I can handle a hen and her chick’s easy enough. There’s no need for ye to be here.”
“I’ll get the tea,” Ian grumbled.
“Good boy,” Felix said with a chuckle. He was still chuckling when he went into the foyer. But his laughter came to an abrupt end when he unlocked the door and saw who awaited him on the other side of it.
“Felicity.” He caught her as she stumbled towards him. The whites of her eyes flashed with terror before she buried her head against his chest and let out a muffled sob. “Felicity, what the devil–” He cut himself short. He could question her when she wasn’t shaking like a leaf. For now, she only needed one thing. To know that she was safe. “Come on love, in we go.” Picking up the oil lamp he’d left by the door, he led Felicity and her children straight up the stairs to the Captain’s private quarters. When Henry struggled to keep up he simply threw the lad onto his shoulders, but when he went to pull Anne from Felicity’s arms she shook her head.
“I’ve got her,” she said softly. “Where are you taking us?”
“Somewhere the children can rest and ye can tell me what happened.” Even though Owen had moved out three weeks ago, the third floor was still sparsely furnished with a bed in one room and a sofa, chairs, and table in the other.
Lighting another oil lamp, Felix set it down on top of an empty dresser so Felicity could see while she tucked the little ones into bed. Anne did not so much as stir an eyelash, but Henry sat up on his elbows and peered around.
“Where are we? Mum, I want to go home. I don’t like it here.”
His small, plaintive voice tugged straight at Felix’s heart as he watched and listened from the doorway. Henry and Anne may not have been his by blood, but Cornelius Spencer was evidence of the fact that breeding made a sire out of a man, not a father. A father was something more.
A father was there to kiss bruises and bumps. A father was there to teach his son – and his daughter – how to fish and ride and sail a pond yacht straight and true. A father was there to sweep the children’s mother off her feet and show them that love was not cold and sterile but warm and welcoming. A father was there to raise his children. To teach them. To protect them. And if Felicity let him, he would be that father to Henry and Anne.
“I know, darling. I know.” Metal springs squeaked as Felicity sat down on the edge of the mattress. “You did such a good job holding my hand. You were such a brave, courageous boy.” Leaning forward, she kissed his brow. “I’m so very proud of you, Henry. But I want you to rest now, all right? Close your eyes and rest. When you wake up in the morning Mr. Spencer will take you for a tour. Won’t you, Mr. Spencer?” She lifted her head, revealing eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“Aye,” Felix said without hesitation. “And do ye know whose bed it is you’re sleeping in, lad?”
“No,” Henry whispered.
“The Captain’s himself. I suppose that makes you an honorary Runner. Best get to sleep. A Runner needs his wits about him. We’ll start our work bright and early. Goodnight, lad.” Felix stepped back and partially closed the door, a smile creasing his face when he heard Henry’s excited chatter and Felicity’s calm, quiet insistence that he go straight to bed so he could help Mr. Spencer solve a case in the morning.
After a few minutes all was silent and still. He waited for Felicity in the hall. When she stepped out from behind the door she gasped at the sight of him and pressed a hand over her chest, her face as white as the sheets she’d just tucked her children into.
“It’s just me, love. No need to be alarmed.” Felix spoke in the same soft, easy monotone he’d used to calm a frightened horse which had gotten tangled in its harness. “Let’s go sit down and get some tea into ye. Are ye hungry?”
Her gaze darted back to the bedroom. “I cannot leave Henry and Anne.”
“There’s no safer place for them in all the world than right where they are.” He cupped the back of his neck and squeezed the corded muscles tight. It was hard for him to see Felicity so afraid. Harder still because he didn’t yet know the source of her fear. Or why the devil she’d gone running through the streets at night in nothing more than a flimsy wrap and her nightdress. Bloody ‘ell, the poor dove didn’t even have any shoes on. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wait.” She reached for his arm, nails digging into his skin as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t leave me.”
He gathered her close. Pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m going downstairs to get ye some tea, love, and a warm blanket. I’ll be but a minute.”
“The children are safe? No one can get them?”
“They’re safe. No one can get them.”
A shudder ran through her body. “Please be quick. I – I need to tell you what happened. You need to send men. You need to send men to her. She shouldn’t be left there. All alone. She shouldn’t be left.”
“Send men to who, love?” he asked patiently.
“The girl. He cut her throat, Felix. The blood…there was so much of it. He killed her.” Laying her head against his chest, she began to quietly weep. “He killed her right outside my door.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Get ahold of Kent anyway ye can and get him here.” Holding a pot of tea, two cups, and a gray blanket in his arms, Felix stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned his head to glare at Ian when he realized the other man wasn’t moving. “Did ye bloody ears get boxed or did ye hear what I said? Get moving, man!”
Ian crossed his arms. “My ears will get boxed if I wake up Kent at this hour without a good reason. And that’s only if he’s in a good mood. Who was that woman? What does she want? And what the bollocks does she have to with Kent?”
“It’s not what she has to do with Kent,” Felix growled. “It’s what the dead woman on her doorstep has to do with Kent. The Slasher is back.”
It was all the explanation Ian needed. Grim-faced, he grabbed his coat and shoved his arms through the sleeves. “I’ll return with Kent as soon as I can. Do you want me to get the Captain as well?”
“Aye.” Felix closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. “Get everyone.”
Felicity waited for Felix to return outside the bedroom where her children slept. She could hear the low murmur of masculine voices beneath her feet, and wondered who he was talking to and what he was telling him. She heard the front door open and close, then the rhythmic pounding of footsteps as someone climbed the stairs. The breath she hadn’t even known she was holding expelled in a loud rush of air as Felix rounded the corner.
“It’s just me, love,” he said in the same reassuring tone he’d been using since she had arrived. “How are the little rascals?”
“Fast asleep.” And for that she owed Felix the world. When she’d set out for Bow Street in the dark and the dreary with shadows nipping at her heels she hadn’t known he would be the one to answer the door. But she was grateful it had been him. More grateful than she could possibly put into words.
She followed him into the small adjoining parlor and sat down in the middle of a worn camelback settee. Felix wrapped the blanket around her lap and thrust a warm cup of tea into her hand before he crouched down in front of the fireplace and started a fire. It wasn’t until the room was encased in warm, merry glow that Felicity realized how cold she’d been. Drawing the blanket up to her chin, she took a long sip of tea. Despite being unsweetened and slightly acidic, it was the best tea she’d ever tasted.
“Now then.” Brushing his hands together, Felix stood up. “Are ye ready to tell me what happened?”
“The girl. She’s still lying there, in the alley. Is someone–”
“T
he other Runners are on their way here. When they arrive the Captain will send someone to your flat.” Little licks of orange and yellow light danced across Felix’s somber countenance as he walked silently across the room and sat beside her. Not quite touching, but still close enough to comfort.
He hadn’t shaved since she’d last seen him, Felicity noted, and his dark scruff had grown into a beard had enveloped nearly half of his face. The beard made him appear rougher. Surlier. Meaner. But she’d seen with her own eyes the gentle care with which he’d carried Henry up the stairs and the tenderness in his gaze as he’d watched her tuck them in to bed.
He was so kind with the children. Certainly kinder than Ezra had ever been. Would he be a good father to them? It was not something she’d thought of before. Perhaps because she already knew the answer.
“If you would rather wait and speak to the Captain directly,” Felix began, but Felicity gave a small shake of her head.
“No. No, I want to tell you.” She set her cup of tea down on the table and wrapped the blanket more closely around herself, a small bird seeking shelter from a coming storm it had no way to avoid. When she began to speak she was no longer sitting beside Felix, but rather hiding behind her own door, paralyzed by fear and cowardice as a young woman’s life was cut brutally short.
“…and I did nothing,” she finished on a wretched whisper. “I could have helped her. I could have saved her.” Felicity feared that no matter how much time passed she would never be able to get the girl’s voice out of her head, just as she would never be able to get the blood out of her clothes.
Help me! For the love of God, someone help me!
When she shuddered Felix drew her cold, trembling hand out from beneath the blanket and squeezed the blood back into her fingers. “Look at me. Look,” he said sternly when she would have stared blindly down at the floor. “The only thing ye would have done if ye had opened that door was get yourself and your children killed. Do ye understand?”
“Yes, but–”
“There was nothing ye could have done.” Something flickered in the depths of Felix’s tawny gaze. It took Felicity a moment to figure out what it was, and when she did her breath caught in her throat.
Recognition.
It was recognition.
“You know who did this. You know who killed her.”
“Aye,” he acknowledged. “I know who killed her.” Releasing her hand, he stood up and began to pace back and forth across the room, his shoulders as hard and stiff as Felicity had ever seen them. “We call him the Slasher. He’s murdered four women that we know of. Five if ye include the girl tonight. His last victim was the wife of a Runner. Marianne Kent.” He stopped in front of the fireplace with his legs braced apart and a scowl darkening his brow. “The bastard slit ‘er throat when she was on her way home from the market. Left her body in the middle of the street for her husband to find. That was nigh on three years ago. Kent ‘as been hunting him every day since, but every lead has come up empty. We’ve been hoping he’s been eight feet under the ground. I guess this proves otherwise.”
Felicity leaned back against the settee and drew her legs to her chest. “How do you know it was him? Perhaps – perhaps it was only someone who wanted to make you think it was him.” As if that somehow made it better. As if that somehow made it right.
While it certainly wouldn’t bring the girl back to life, it would mean a savage killer wasn’t once again loose on the streets of London. A savage killer who had been mere feet away from her children. She pinched the bridge of her nose as a hard, pulsing knot formed right behind her eyes.
What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back there. Not even to collect her things. If she walk over those blood-stained cobblestones again... Her eyes closed as her stomach revolted at the very idea, threatening to churn up the potato stew she’d eaten for dinner.
“Ye need to rest,” Felix said quietly. “You’re safe here, love. Ye have no need to worry.”
Because of you.
Her lashes fluttered open, gaze automatically drawn to the lean, sharp lines of his countenance. He could have turned her away as she had done to him. Could have treated her children with coldness instead of kindness. Could have shoved all three of them back out into the cruel, merciless night. But he hadn’t. Because he wasn’t Ezra. And he wasn’t Rodger. He was Felix. He was her Felix. And she was falling helplessly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him…whether she wanted to or not.
“I need to thank you, Mr. Spencer.” Her hands twisted together on top of her bent knees, fingers intertwining as her gaze dropped to his chest. It was easier to look there than into those perceptive golden eyes of his. Especially given what she wanted – what she needed – to say. “I was thinking about you before – before that poor woman was killed.”
“Were ye,” he murmured.
“Yes and I…” I am falling in love with you but I am afraid. I am afraid of being hurt again. I am afraid of having my heart broken again. Help me to not be afraid, Felix. I know that you can. I know that you are the only one who can. “I just wanted to thank you for taking us in tonight. You did not have to do that.”
Coward, she thought with disgust. You, Felicity Atwood, are a spineless coward.
Felix lifted two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “That’s what we’re here for, Miss Atwood. Bow Street Runners, at your service night and day.” He scratched at his jaw. “Is there anything else ye wanted to tell me?”
Yes.
“No.” Gathering the blanket, she busied herself by folding it into a neat square before setting it aside. “No, that was it.”
“Are ye certain?”
He knows, she realized. He knows I am in love with him.
“Yes, Mr. Spencer. I’m certain.”
“Are we certain it’s the Slasher?” From his position at the head of the table, Owen commanded the attention of every Runner on Bow Street save Hawke and Colin who had been sent to retrieve what evidence they could from the scene of the crime, including the dead woman’s body.
“Aye.” For the first time since he’d been appointed a Runner, Felix sat directly to the Captain’s left in the chair typically reserved for Grant. “Without having been there to see it with me own eyes, I’m as certain as I can be. Everything Felicity said, from the amount of blood to the slashed throat, matches his previous kills. It’s him all right.”
Everyone was silent for a moment as they absorbed the gravity of the situation.
When the Slasher – the only name they had for him as his true identity remained a mystery claimed his first victim Henry Fielding had still been in charge. It was before Felix’s time, but he’d heard the story enough times to know that at first it was believed to have been a crime of passion. A lover’s quarrel gone wrong. Nothing more, nothing less.
Until the second woman was found, and then the third. When Kent’s wife became the fourth they realized they were not hunting a man, but a monster.
The Slasher murdered without discrimination. All of the women he’d killed had been different ages, different builds, and found in different parts of the city. The only thing they had in common was how they’d been murdered: throats cut wide open and left in the middle of the street in a congealing pool of their own blood.
“The devil must have spat him back out,” Lord Brentwood said quietly.
“And we’re going to send him straight back to hell.” Tobias Kent’s eyes were as dark and fierce as Felix had ever seen them. He was the only one not sitting at the table. Instead he stood by the window, every muscle in his lean, hard body drawn tight as a bowstring.
“This case takes precedence over everything.” Owen spoke calmly, but there was a clipped edge to his tone Felix had never heard before. “I want every Runner hunting this bastard day and night. We need to find him before he kills again.”
“London is a big place, Captain.” It was the first time Grant had spoken. “And the Slasher hasn’t shown a preference for any one district in p
articular. The first woman was found outside Berkley Square, this one was killed in the East End. That’s a lot of area to cover.”
“So we cover it.” Kent’s voice lashed across the room like a whip.
“I never said we didn’t, or we couldn’t,” Grant said quietly. “But we want to be clever about it. There is a reason the Slasher hasn’t been caught already. He may be a sadistic bastard, but he’s careful. He knows how to cover his tracks.”
“Hargrave is right. We’ll need to keep our wits about us and have a plan in place.” Owen ran a hand down his face. “Brentwood, take that map down off the wall.”
Brentwood tore down the large map of London without question and spread it out across the table. Standing, Owen used a pencil to cute the map into five triangular sections with the East End as the focal point. “We’ll break up into pairs. Cover as much ground as possible. Question everyone. Someone had to have seen something, or know something. Detain anyone who looks suspicious, male or female.” He lifted his head and looked at each one of his Runners in turn. “Pick a partner you like, because the two of are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few days. I want men canvassing the city round the clock. I’ll be damned if I allow another woman to die under my watch. Is that understood?”
Tight-lipped and grim-faced, everyone nodded.
“Good. Then let’s get started. Spencer, a word.”
Wondering what the devil he’d done now, Felix followed Owen up the stairs and into his private office.
“Shut the door,” Owen said brusquely before he sat down at his desk. An overcast, sullen dawn was just beginning to break across the sky and with it came a pattering of rain. “I take it Miss Atwood and the children are still sleeping.”
“Aye.”
“I imagine finding a dead body was quite a shock.”
“Felicity’s stronger than she looks.”
Owen’s icy blue stare was piercing. “Yes. She certainly is. I am going to be blunt, Spencer. For a variety of reasons, but mostly because we do not have the time to be otherwise. What are your intentions towards her? Be honest with me.”
A Dangerous Proposal (Bow Street Brides Book 2) Page 14