Chapter 17 For all the horrors he’d witnessed and taken part of in the streets of St. Giles and all the darkness he’d known, there had been but two moments in his life when Calum had been so wholly lost—at sea. The first being when his parents had died and he’d found himself inside a cold, lonely foundling hospital. The other when he’d been carted off to Newgate and slated to die. Calum stared emptily at the small woman across from him. The slightly crooked teeth worrying her lower lip. The dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose. “When I was a girl, my father would tell me of the great Greek stories contained in the night sky . . .” The memories continued coming fast and furious, tumbling over one another, confusing his muddled mind. “Nothing is more useful than silence . . .” “That’s your favorite saying, Calum . . .” “Tau.” “It means immortal . . .” No. The air exploded between his tightly clenched teeth in a noisy hiss, and he stumbled back a step. His stomach lurched. Eve
Chapter 18 With her valise packed, her gown changed, and her hair neatly brushed and plaited, Eve sat staring at her reflection in the dresser mirror. She cocked her head. She’d always hated her hair. Most English girls were born and blessed with golden curls. Eve, on the other hand, had been saddled with limp, dull-brown strands that couldn’t manage a curl if the Lord set himself to the task of it. Yet, since she’d blended that noxious recipe and painted her hair, she’d mourned the loss of her natural coloring . . . and not simply because of the odor that clung to her. She’d donned a disguise and lost so many parts of herself. Her name. Her existence. Even those once lamentable tresses. She touched a reverent hand briefly to the crown of her head. It was an odd thing to sit here contemplating in the time since Calum had stormed out of her rooms. Particularly given that he’d stationed a guard outside her door. “A guard,” she whispered into the quiet. Like she was a thief who could not
Chapter 19 Over the course of that week, everything within the club continued on as it had been. Standing at the mahogany table in the Observatory, Calum alternated his attention between reviewing the reports Eve had drafted and watching the patrons on the gaming floors. For all intents and purposes, it was any other day inside the hell. For all of Eve’s staggering revelations, there had not been any dramatic scandal to rock the club. There’d been no raging duke to storm the hell and lay the final deathblow to their success. Nor had there been any of the other shared tender moments between them. Damn him for being weak, Calum missed them. He missed the teasing discourse, and their working together at the foundling hospital. Instead, Eve had become the perfect employee. A barrier of formality had been erected between them where she was his bookkeeper and he her employer, and but for business meetings and topics pertaining to the club, nothing further was discussed. Her footsteps sounded
Chapter 20 Calum had faced down devils in the street. He’d shared a roof and answered to one of the most ruthless killers and gang leaders in both St. Giles and the Dials. But of all those monsters whose paths he’d crossed, none had he ever wanted to end more than he did Eve’s brother. A short while later, features schooled into a comfortable mask, Calum entered his office. The tall, elegantly clad Duke of Bedford reclined in the chair closest to Calum’s desk. Legs sprawled before him, hands resting on his slightly rounding belly, he personified ducal power. In his very repose, he was a man who acted as though the world was his due and he would expect nothing less. He’d also been the bastard who’d dunked Eve under freezing water when she was a child and arranged to have her raped when she was a woman. And Calum, who’d always prided himself on his control, was proved wholly inadequate in an altogether different way. A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye, and he fought to repress th
Chapter 21 Calum had but five hours until the Duke of Bedford returned to the Hell and Sin. In the end, it was not Ryker, Niall, or Adair who could help him from his situation. One of his uniformed servants handed over the reins. “’ere ya are, sir.” Accepting them with a murmur of thanks, Calum pulled himself astride. He nudged Tau into a quick trot, and then as he reached the end of the street, Calum gave the restless mount his freedom. Tau bleated his appreciation and thundered onward. The night’s cold still hung in the air, and Calum welcomed the wind as it slapped against his face. His pulse accelerated, pounding a frantic beat in time to Tau’s hooves as they struck the cobblestones. Any other time, he would have found calm in this. Riding had always filled him with the same exhilaration as securing a fat purse, and then racing off from those unsuspecting lords and ladies. Not now. Five hours. He had five hours before Bedford returned. The same bastard who’d put a knife in Calum’s
Chapter 22 Eve hadn’t slept, but oddly, as she’d gone through her morning ablutions and started from her rooms, her entire body stirred with a panicky wakefulness. It was time. Or rather, it soon would be. Gerald would return, and somewhere between his departure last evening and this moment, she’d accepted the truth—she could not let Calum make this decision. Because knowing him as she did, the boy in the mews who’d become an honorable man worried after those on his staff would never bow to Gerald’s threats. She stared blankly at the wood-paneled door. Before her courage deserted her, she jerked the door open. Calum’s brother stood there waiting. Eve shrieked and slapped a hand to her breast. “Oh, you startled me.” A gentleman of the ton would have replied with his apologies; Adair, however, met her with only seriousness. “My lady? May we speak?” he asked somberly. Gone was the frosty anger he’d directed her way last evening. She eyed him a long moment, then nodded. Adair spun on his h
Chapter 23 Her brother had a townhouse. It was a peculiar detail to fix on given the fear she’d lived with these past weeks, and yet she hadn’t known Kit had been in possession of a London townhouse. Seated on the window bench overlooking the streets of Grosvenor Square, her knees drawn up, Eve skimmed her gaze over the well-stocked library. She took in the floor-length shelving and leather button sofas. Kit was her brother and she loved him, and yet she couldn’t even venture to imagine what books he’d have placed upon those shelves. She didn’t know what dreams he’d had or who his friends were. Since Papa had died, and letters upon letters had been sent and been unreplied to, she’d gone from hope to despair to eventual acceptance. For the whole of her life, Kit had been devoted—when he was around . . . The truth had always been that he’d been gone more than he’d ever been part of her life. Oh, she loved him and always would. But he’d represented the closest dream she had to family, and
Epilogue Eve had never spent her life dreaming of a fortune, but seated inside her office at the foundling hospital and evaluating the food reports, she had a great appreciation for just all that money provided. Eve frantically scraped her pen over the page, completing the monthly reports for the Salvation Foundling Hospital. In the weeks since she’d wed Calum and secured her dowry, those monies had been put to use inside this institution that had come to mean so very much to her. One number upon the ledger, however, commanded all her notice. Fifty children. Pausing, she reverently stroked that now dry number she’d inked earlier that day. Only this was solely the beginning. Those children who’d found homes in the expanded space inside the foundling hospital were just the first. Discussing it the night they’d been reunited, Calum had proposed they expand the help they provided . . . to other hospitals and establishments around England. A quivery smile turned her lips up. With their moni
Acknowledgments To Alison, Lauren, and my entire team at Montlake Romance, I’m so very grateful for all your support. Thank you for trusting my vision as an author and for allowing me to bring the Sinful Brides world to the page.
About the Author Photo © 2016 Kimberly Rocha USA Today bestselling author Christi Caldwell blames Julie Garwood and Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. When Christi was sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, she began writing her own tales of love. Christi believes even the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections. Besides, she rather enjoys torturing th
em—before the couple earn their well-deserved happily ever after. Christi makes her home in southern Connecticut, where she spends her time writing, chasing after her courageous son, and caring for her twin princesses-in-training. For free bonus material and the latest information about Christi’s releases and future books, sign up for her newsletter at www.ChristiCaldwell.com.
OTHER TITLES BY CHRISTI CALDWELL
Sinful Brides
The Rogue’s Wager
The Scoundrel’s Honor
The Lady’s Guard
The Brethren
The Spy Who Seduced Her
The Heart of a Scandal
In Need of a Knight
Schooling the Duke
The Theodosia Sword
Only for His Lady
Only for Her Honor
Only for Their Love
Heart of a Duke
In Need of a Duke
For Love of the Duke
More Than a Duke
The Love of a Rogue
Loved by a Duke
To Love a Lord
The Heart of a Scoundrel
To Wed His Christmas Lady
To Trust a Rogue
The Lure of a Rake
To Woo a Widow
To Redeem a Rake
One Winter with a Baron
To Enchant a Wicked Duke
Beguiled by a Baron
Lords of Honor
Seduced by a Lady’s Heart
Captivated by a Lady’s Charm
Rescued by a Lady’s Love
Tempted by a Lady’s Smile
Scandalous Seasons
Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride
Never Courted, Suddenly Wed
Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous
Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love
A Marquess for Christmas
Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love
Danby
A Season of Hope
Winning a Lady’s Heart
Brethren of the Lords
My Lady of Deception
Nonfiction
Uninterrupted Joy
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2017 by Christi Caldwell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542048941
ISBN-10: 154204894X
Cover design by Michael Rehder
Cover photography by PeriodImages.com
To Jennifer and Jennifer:
Oftentimes being a mom of a child with special needs is lonely . . . but then, if one’s fortunate, one finds friends and fellow mothers who understand more clearly what this journey is. Friends who are there for you and support you . . . who are there to listen through the uncertain times and always cheer you and your child on through the triumphs. I’m so very grateful to both of you for your friendship. Calum and Eve’s story is for you!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
Mayfair
London, England
1807
Calum Dabney was dying.
And it was even more painful than his former gang leader, Mac Diggory, had threatened it would be.
Stumbling along the alley, Calum clutched at his right side; warm blood coated his fingers. His breath came hard and fast in his ears as he crashed against the side of the white stucco townhouse.
At fourteen, he’d been beaten, shot, and stabbed more times than even the Almighty himself had a right to survive. But borrowing support from the elegant building, he gritted his teeth through the pain and accepted the truth.
I’m dying . . .
On his birthday, no less. It was foolish, the staggering intensity, this need to survive. Since his parents’ death when he was a boy of five, he’d lived first in an orphanage, beaten for the pleasure of the nurses caring for him. Then he’d escaped and found a ruthless home among the Dial’s most lethal gang leaders. Calum had had an empty belly on most nights and had been forced to fight boys and men for scraps and coins. Mayhap it was a primitive need to survive that existed even in the basest beasts. But even with the misery of his existence, he still hadn’t wanted to die then and certainly didn’t now, since he’d found a family in Ryker, Niall, Adair, and Helena.
After all, even a starved dog snarled and fought for his last breath.
“I’m not a dog,” he rasped. He was Calum Dabney . . . one of the best pickpockets in the whole of London and second-in-command of the Hellfire gang. The band of brothers he and Ryker Black had formed three years ago. It wasn’t his time to die. He’d too many plans for the future. A future that involved climbing from the gutter and rising up. And security. And food. And a roof—he’d have a damned roof and a big bed and one of those fancy desks just like his late father once had . . .
With each reminder of his dreams, Calum dragged himself forward. He reached the end of the alley and stopped, frozen in the shadows. He breathed through his pain, waiting and watching. His gaze found the familiar mews. This place that had been an unexpected shelter nearly a year ago during a deluge and then became something more: a place where he’d come to escape the hell of St. Giles. The sight of the stables gave him a surge of strength.
The nighttime clouds stilled over the full moon hanging in the sky. With that cover, he darted forward, rushing to the mews. Holding one hand to the still-bleeding wound, Calum used the other to shove the stable door open. With all his remaining effort, he drew it closed behind him, and then he collapsed in a heap atop the hay.
A midnight-hued horse whinnied loudly and bent, nuzzling Calum with his cold nose.
“Hello, Night,” he whispered to the familiar mount.
The tall creature neighed in greeting and then, as if bored by Calum’s presence, resumed munching on hay.
Stars dotted Calum’s vision, and he pressed his eyes closed, willing those flecks of light gone. If he gave in to the inky darkness, he feared he’d never wake up. That was what his brother Niall was forever saying about sleeping after a knife wound.
Calum shifted onto his uninjured side and gasped as agony burned through his body. Sweating from the pain and his exertions, he promptly closed his mouth. Silence saved and sound destroyed. You’ll get yourself killed . . . Calum’s lower lip quivered, and he focused on the self-revulsion at his weak response. For all the times he and his brothers had been stabbed, they’d withstood the pain and never cried. This was different. This time there was so much blood. With shaking fingers, he made to draw back the fabric of his shirt. He winced as the tattered garment peeled away, revealing the open wound. Then, sucking in a slow breath through his teeth, he quickly covered up the mark left by the Marquess of Downton’s blade. Son of a duke, Lord Downton would one day be owner of the Mayfair mews Calum frequently visited. The ruthless
bastard had caught him once before and promised him a hanging if Calum sullied his stables again. It had been one thing to disregard that long-ago threat, an altogether different one to rob from that same man in the street. Guilt and regret roiled inside.
It had been a careless mistake. Always nick from a nob in a crowd, when they were unsuspecting. That was the way. The safest way to pick a man’s pocket. But the drunken gentleman exiting Diggory’s hell had diamonds dripping, from the rings on his fingers to the buttons on his jacket to the cover of his timepiece. Calum had made an uncharacteristic misstep and found himself with a blade to his side for his efforts. He reached in the clever pocket sewn along the side of his pants. His fingers collided with a cool metal object, and he pulled it out.
Those exertions sent sweat dripping from his brow, into his eyes. He blinked back the stinging moisture and gazed at the heavy fob in his hand. Through the bloody agony of his side, he managed a grin. The piece was worth a damned fortune and had been worth the carelessness and risk.
Calum collapsed on his back and blacked out.
A faint creaking penetrated Calum’s unconsciousness, and he struggled to open his eyes. The scent of cloves and mutton lingered in the air. Trying to piece together where he was, Calum shoved up on his elbows and gasped, remembering too late—the knife. The injury. His surely impending death.
“Calum.” The faint singsong whisper, in those cultured tones, out of place in his world, pierced his frantic thoughts. “Are you here? I’ve brought you a birthday—”
A soft whir of air caressed his face as the familiar figure—a small one—sank down beside him. Little Lena Duchess, as he’d nicknamed her. He’d stumbled upon her in this stall in the middle of a rainstorm a year ago. Where any other lords or ladies would have turned him over to the constables, the small girl had run off and returned with leftovers from the evening meal. Little fingers captured his face in a surprisingly strong, if unsteady, grip.
The Heiress's Deception Page 2