“I told them I couldn’t do it, that Lord Durnham didn’t confide in me, and they said I would have to become his lover, then. Some of them even made a bet on how long it would take me in the wager book in Lord Durnham’s club—”
Luke howled. An animal sound that grabbed Edward by the back of his neck. “I’ll kill him.”
“You know Lord Tavenam?” Charlotte asked him, and her voice shook.
“Tavenam? Never ’eard of him. But I know who sent him.” Luke turned his gaze, hard and cold as a dead fish, on Edward. “What did your nob here say to all this, Charlie? I presume you told him?”
“I told him about the blackmail. He’s the one who told me about the bet.” Charlotte still hugged herself at the hips, and at last she looked up again. “He came to warn Catherine and me about it, and arrange things so there could be no gossip about us.”
Luke carried on staring, and Edward felt his fists curl again. “You got something to say, Bracken?”
Luke looked away, dismissing Edward suddenly, and turned his attention to Charlotte. “Don’t trust him. He’s a nob and he’ll hush it up and hide the guilty away quicker’n you can blink. No nob will go down for this crime. If they can get me, or the owlers, so much the better. But when they find the nobs at the top, well, it’ll be a slap on the wrist, and ‘don’t be a naughty boy, and let’s not see you do this again.’”
“You’re wrong there.” Edward tried to relax, to speak to Luke civilly, even though, knowing what he was to Charlotte, what he had been, all Edward wanted to do was go for the throat.
“I won’t cover it up. If you’ve got information, give it to me, and I’ll make sure they take their rightful punishment.”
Luke threw him a look so laden with contempt, it hit Edward like a blow. “You? You’ll have no choice. You’ll cover it up. If you aren’t already doing just that, following all the trails, hoodwinking Charlie into leading you to the witnesses so you can bump ’em off.”
“I don’t understand.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off Luke. “Why would I have no choice?”
“You must know.” Luke sneered, but there was something in the way he looked at him that made Edward think he wasn’t so certain of himself anymore.
“If you know something, then spit it out!” He lost all patience. “What do you think these men have on me? Why would you think I’d be in league with them?”
Luke took a step back and almost ran into the carriage behind him. “You really don’t know.” He spoke slowly, and with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Edward said nothing. He stood waiting, and was surprised at the dread he felt. Whatever came next would not be pleasant.
“The man behind this is your stepfather, Lord Nob. Hawthorne is the kingpin of this little operation.”
Edward felt the earth shift a little beneath his feet, a shuddering resettling of the world into a slightly different configuration. He sucked in a deep breath, needing air. “And how do you know that?”
Luke’s eyes flashed in what little light came from the lamp on the corner. “He approached me, as I was the only criminal he knew, to set this little lark up for him. That’s how I got involved. He thinks I’m a moneygrubbing little bludger. But even so, he’s been right tight about what information he gives me. The going’s been slower than I thought to catch ’is little lot out.”
“How did he know to come to you to start? Why are you the only criminal he knows?” Edward bluffed it out with disbelief, but he knew Bracken must be right. It made a twisted sense.
“’Cause I found him, years ago it was now. Went lookin’ for Charlie’s father. Just to make sure ’e was totally out o’ the picture. Didn’t want some cove turnin’ up out of the blue to claim her.” He turned to Charlotte. “I’d asked around, back when you first came to work with us—with that bastard Ashcroft. I tried to find out ’bout your mum, and what happened to ’er. I wanted to be prepared, see. And I found out quite a bit—your ma told a neighbor everything, that your father was a nob an’ all. She asked the neighbor to go to him an’ ask for help for you if she didn’t make it. Course, the cow decided it would be more of a sure thing to sell you to the brothels than try to squeeze money from a lord. But she gave me ’is name, for a price.”
There was something in the way he said this that made Edward shiver. He wondered if the woman had lived very long after she told Luke that tale. He doubted it, and yet he could not find any sympathy for her, either.
“I didn’t tell you, Charlie. There was nothin’ to say. No way ’e would be a problem, given who ’e was. I let him know I knew all about it. Just in case. And I’ve kept in touch, you might say. Just to keep ’im off balance, keep him running a little scared. And don’t he deserve it? The way he forced you an’ your mum into the life you ’ad.”
It was the most Edward had ever heard Luke speak, and through it all, Luke kept his eyes on Charlotte, and stood, open and arms a little out, as if he were some kind of angel, delivering a tiding.
Edward took a quick look at Charlotte’s face. It was white, and she looked smaller somehow, as if the shock of Luke’s revelation had diminished her. He took a step toward her, but she lifted her hands and shrunk back from all of them, as if they were all about to do her harm. Her eyes were shadowed and impossible to see.
“What has this to do with my stepfather?” Edward asked, his gaze still locked on Charlotte, the sense that he was losing her, that she was slipping through his fingers like fine gold dust, growing stronger by the moment. And he was sure what was coming next would not help him.
“Surely that’s obvious? He’s Charlie’s father,” Luke spoke quietly, and with a tremble to his voice, as if at last he regretted his impulse to speak but realized he’d gone too far, that he had to finish now. Perhaps he felt her pulling from him, just as surely as Edward did. “He raped his chambermaid, and when she fell pregnant, he kicked her out into the street.”
It was the final hammer’s blow. Edward watched Charlotte flinch, and it seemed to him the chains that bound her were at last severed.
32
Charlotte was almost crouching back, waiting for the blow of Luke’s revelation, and when it came, it wasn’t so bad. She’d had worse. Much worse.
The thought steadied her. And made her realize what she was doing.
Hadn’t she promised herself never to cower again?
She straightened, suddenly lighter. She’d never thought much about her father. She’d relegated him to one of the men her mother prostituted herself to. To find out her father was the cause of her mother’s hardship skewed her view of her old life, twisting it like the toffee confections in the bakers’ windows.
She’d never had the sense of being a burden, in the few flashes of memory she had of her mother. And tears pricked and welled in her eyes at the thought of how much she’d been loved. Despite everything, her mother had sacrificed so much to keep her.
“Ah, Jesus, Charlie, I’m sorry. Don’t cry.” Luke looked in agony.
She didn’t know what to say to him, did not want to comfort him, even though she was not crying for the reasons he thought. She looked to the side, into the darkness, and jerked with surprise as she caught sight of Sammy. He was lurking just out of the light, watching Luke’s back, but there could be no doubt Luke’s revelation was as much news to him as it was to everyone else. He was gaping, dumbstruck.
And then Charlotte remembered Lord Hawthorne’s face that day in Edward’s breakfast room and jerked her gaze to Edward, wondering if he was thinking the same.
She hadn’t known she’d been so like her mother in looks. But that surely must be who Hawthorne thought she was for one moment, until common sense intervened. And then he’d immediately used what he knew about her and sent Tavenam after her that same night. Using his newfound daughter, and trying to prostitute her for information almost the moment he realized she was right in front of him.
Just like he had forced her mother to prostitute herself to keep her child alive.
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A tiny, hard seed of hate sprang to life in her chest, but before she could focus on it, the thought occurred to her again that she must look very like her mother.
It comforted her, more than she could have believed.
She brushed the tears that slipped down her cheeks away with the backs of her hands and saw all five men staring at her.
“I met Hawthorne at Edward’s the other day. You might have warned me before, Luke. You must have known there was a chance we would meet.”
“I didn’t want to tell you about Hawthorne, not if I didn’t have to.” Luke would not look her in the eyes. “He doesn’t attend balls. He’s got such bad gout he barely goes anywhere but his club. That’s how I know he can only draw his co-conspirators from high society. I never knew you’d be going to Lord Nob’s house and even if you did, I’ve never known Hawthorne to visit there. Or that he’d somehow recognize you if he did.”
She looked properly at Edward. He held himself more tightly bound than ever. As shocked as her.
She wanted to slip her hand into his again, and give him some comfort, but something in the way he held himself prevented her. “Edward …”
He turned to look at her, and his anger gave him a lean, hungry look. “I need to go.” He moved to the carriage door, and it was only then that Charlotte remembered the coachman. She looked up and caught him staring. He turned away hastily and she had to hope Edward had discreet, trustworthy staff.
“Wait.” She reached out and finally touched him, taking hold of his arm as she turned to Gary and Kit. “Go home without me. I’ll be accompanying Lord Durnham.”
“What, to confront Hawthorne?” Luke spoke incredulously from the shadows. “There’s no telling what he’ll do. He’s behind Frethers’s death, for certain. I forbid you to go.”
Edward had gone still under her hand the moment she touched him. “I hate to agree with Mr. Bracken, but I would not like you there, either.”
“But that’s where you’re going.” She dropped her hand, stepped away from him, then turned to Luke. “You’ve never had the right to forbid me anything, and you certainly don’t now. You need to put a stop to this guinea smuggling, Luke. The end doesn’t justify the means. You need to finish it.” She turned away without waiting for him to respond. “Lord Durnham,” she gave a tiny bow. “Would you be so good as to give me the address of your stepfather?”
He jerked as if she’d slapped him. “You wouldn’t—”
“I’ll take Kit and Gary with me, of course. Perhaps Sammy will come along, too?”
Sammy nodded from the shadows, and something tight in her chest eased a fraction. “In fact, if Sammy’s been watching Lord Hawthorne for Luke, I could get the address from him.” She smiled brightly. “No need to trouble you further. I’ll be on my way.”
Edward stared at her, his face sharp and exquisitely controlled. Then he pulled open the door of the carriage and held out a hand. “You are, of course, welcome to accompany me. After you.” He spoke with an exaggerated politeness that spoke of anger and frustration held in close control.
She looked at his hand for one long beat.
“Please,” he said.
She put her hand into his and he helped her in.
She looked back at Luke as she sat on the bench seat of the coach, but he made no move to stop her. He stood quite still, as if lost in thought.
Kit closed the door, and she caught a glimpse of his face as they began rolling down the street. He was afraid.
She peered out the window, then across to Edward. “Better ask the coachman to hurry.”
“Why is that?”
She winced at the honed edge of his words. “Because Luke would like to kill Hawthorne before we get to him. I can promise you that.”
Edward liked control. And there was no doubt, with Charlotte Raven, he had none.
“You are very angry with me,” she said. But she did not look sorry. She looked annoyed with him.
He wanted to laugh, suddenly. She was completely uncowed.
“I’m more angry than I can ever remember being. I stopped myself feeling anger, and hurt, and unhappiness, when I was a child. Hawthorne liked to make me cry, and so I refused to do it. I refused to be upset, or miserable, or anything too strong. And I never am.”
She leaned back and studied him. “Is happiness on the list, too?”
He shrugged. “If you are happy, you can be made to feel otherwise.”
She nodded. “I know only too well what you mean. But I think you know you still feel all those things. You just bury them.” She kept her gaze steady. “Why don’t you hide them with me?”
He couldn’t look away. His heart stopped beating and then came to life again like a hard, painful punch. “I can’t seem to help myself where you’re concerned. It goes against everything I’ve done for most of my life.” His voice was rough, the air in the coach close and suffocating.
She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them again. “You make me wish for things I thought I could never have. Want things I never thought I would want.” She stopped and clenched her hands in her lap.
The coach rolled to a stop, and Edward glanced out, saw they were at his stepfather’s.
He considered driving on, calling to the driver to keep going until all of this was left far behind them.
But his stepfather would be between them, no matter what. Luke had seen to that.
“I’m not looking forward to this. It has to be done, but I would rather be anywhere else.” Charlotte looked out the window, leaning close to him, and he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint scent of some light floral powder.
He took her hand and slowly, deliberately, stripped off the thin cotton glove she had borrowed from her maid for this evening’s work.
He lifted her palm and kissed it, then kissed the web of thin white scars on her inner wrist. He could feel her pulse beneath his lips, and raised his eyes.
She was sitting with her eyes closed, her face perfectly still, facing out the window in profile.
He cupped her cheeks, turned her toward him, and leaned into her, brushing his lips with hers and then deepening the kiss, coaxing her mouth open and tasting her.
She breathed in, a quick, sharp movement, and he felt the brush of her breasts against his chest, the tremble of her body.
He was so tempted to slide his hands over her, to cup her breasts, follow her rib cage to her waist, and lift her up to straddle his lap. He threw himself back—away from her.
“Please.” His voice was a whisper, an octave lower than usual. “Please, whatever you hear in there, remember I am nothing to do with my stepfather. I’ve spent my life trying to avoid him, cursing the day he came into it.”
She blinked—a long, lazy, sensuous sweep of her eyelids that did something to the blood in his head, making him feel quite dizzy.
She gathered her cloak about her to take the steps, and he saw a shudder pass through her, caught the faintest scent of arousal, and cursed his stepfather and Luke to the lowest levels of hell.
“Of anyone, I know better than most we are what we make ourselves.” Like his, her voice was husky. Deeper. “I won’t hold your stepfather against you.” She gave him a tentative smile. “If you don’t hold him against me.”
33
Hawthorne’s butler was under a great deal of stress.
Charlotte noticed his hand shook as he opened the door, and his face held the stiff mien of someone who has recently been slapped or sworn at and is still dealing with the shock of it.
He went down the hall to inform Hawthorne of Edward’s presence like a schoolboy walking to the schoolmaster’s office for a hiding.
Hawthorne had lost his temper with his staff today. There could be no doubt.
The butler came back with a slightly lighter step. Hawthorne was glad Edward was here, it seemed. Edward hadn’t given her name and perhaps the butler had not even mentioned her presence.
So much the better, if so.
&n
bsp; “One moment, Clavers.” Edward pulled the man aside and murmured very low in his ear. Clavers went white, and then flushed very red, looking down at the toes of his highly polished shoes. When Edward stepped back, he gave a short, decisive nod, then turned to lead them down the passage.
He did not look her way once.
Edward followed, taking her with him, his hand on her arm, his thumb brushing the cotton of her glove in a light, circular movement.
She thought it was unconscious, and even more sensual for that. It revealed his mind more clearly than anything he could say or do deliberately.
They stepped into a large library, the warm leather of books lending the large space a cozy air. Most of the furniture was leather, too, burnished and gleaming.
Hawthorne sat with his back to the door, facing a small fire even though the evening was still very warm.
As Clavers murmured Edward’s name and closed the door, she expected Hawthorne to turn, but he did not.
“Took your time to come. You didn’t let me know what the magistrate had to say about Geoffrey’s death.”
Edward slanted her a look, then fixed his gaze on the back of Hawthorne’s chair. “I’ve brought you a visitor. A lady.”
At last Hawthorne turned, stiffly and with difficulty, and she saw he had one foot bandaged and up on a footstool. She’d noticed nothing about him the first time she’d met him; his behavior had taken all her attention. But now she could see the blunt, hard lines of his face, the bags under his eyes, and the tiny broken veins under his skin. His nose had the bulbous red look of a drunk’s.
His eyes flickered at the sight of her. He said nothing.
“Good evening, Lord Hawthorne. I understand from Luke Bracken you are my father.”
At that, his foot slipped from its footstool and he let out a cry of agony, and then began to swear; dirty, vicious words that most would consider more commonplace at Billingsgate or in the stews than in this fine library.
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