by Aliyah Burke
He glanced around before sending her a leering grin, his eyes small and beady. “Some. I prefer more of the demonstrative and au naturel images some places have versus your typical pieces.”
The phrase had caught on more and more this year, she had heard it a few times. She forced her fingers to relax on the handle of her fan. Hard to do when she really wanted to stab him with it. Anyone with sense would know he was trying to embarrass her.
“I would not know anything about those types of images, Lord Stanton.” Okay, so that was a barefaced lie. But there was no reason to let him in on her secret.
“Are you sure? Living over in Africa with those heathens for so long, I am sure you saw many sights—many intimate sights—not fit for a proper young Englishwoman.”
Yes, two quick jabs to his throat ought to shut him up. “Is this what you talk about in the House of Lords? Images which excite you? Perhaps if you turned your attention to actually addressing serious issues more would be done in this country.” She snapped her fan open then closed, annoyed with his presence. “It is a shame you think to embarrass me by talking so frankly but I do not shy from such discussions. I would even consider continuing it, but for the moment, I must go find my escort. Would you care for me to relay to Lord Wilkes you want to talk to me about this?”
He blanched. Quite a feat for a man who was pale to begin with. Without a word, he walked off. She stifled a chuckle, her irritation gone.
“You seem to have a knack for exasperating men.” The voice came from beside her, soft and articulate.
Jo turned to see who had decided to approach her and found it hard to breathe. The woman from the park, the one who had thrown her life into such upheaval. The Alchemist.
She stood before Jo as if she had not a care in the world, slender and graceful, she wore a pale blue which matched her eyes. Almost. The material of her dress had a bit of softness in it while her gaze had none. The black hair from earlier had vanished and was replaced by a light golden blonde.
“You!” Jo uttered. She filled with fear only to have replaced with anger when she saw Clara near, Duchess Haversham, Trystan, and others she cared for.
“Tsk, tsk. Temper darling, temper. No need to make a scene.”
“What do you want?”
The woman flicked open her fan with practiced ease. “I would think that obvious. I have come for you and the girl.”
“Never.” She bared her teeth in a silent snarl. “You will never find her.”
“Really? How many people believe you The Alchemist is a woman? It is so easy to manipulate men and move from place to place.” The fan snapped shut. “They are like pets, you know. You just need to know how to stroke them right.”
“If you are so confident no one believes me in that you are a woman, why are you still trying to kill me?”
“Because you mean something to Trystan Wilkes. He took what was most important to me. I plan to do the same to him. And tonight is where it will happen.”
Fear threatened to lock her limbs. Forcing it back, she released a chuckle. “Shows what you know. Trystan does not give a damn for me.”
“He does. He protects you.”
“Not willingly. He has a mistress. All I am is an inconvenience and annoyance to him. He has told me so repeatedly.”
A show of emotion leaked into The Alchemist’s gaze. She had not expected that. Jo kept her face as impassive as possible. Unfortunately, her curiosity had not been cowed and her question slipped free.
“Who did he take from you?”
Others passed them and the woman with her smoothed her expression out and gave a gentle smile. The words however spewed forth, laced with venom when she spoke.
“My brothers. My twin. The first Alchemist. Our baby brother who wanted nothing more than to assume his role. And he took my lover, The Apothecary.”
“He killed them?”
“Murdered them is more like it.”
Her cheeks flushed with anger and Jo knew it would not take much more to push the woman over. This was obviously a sensitive subject. It all made sense now. Trystan had killed The Alchemist, sent him to the gaol and he had hung. This woman was exacting the revenge for the deaths of her loved ones.
“I am sorry.”
“Why would you care?”
“I have a sister who means the world to me and I cannot imagine losing her.”
“He acts so damn smug. Did not even care they were someone’s child, or sister. So I learned, about him, about whom he works for and when I found the weak link, I exploited it.” Her tone grew colder by the word.
“You will not get away with this. Not here.”
“My dear, I already have. Which just leaves one dilemma. What to do with you? I would really like to try some of our newest things on you. I may have to take you with me instead of killing you outright.”
The fan flipped open again and hid most of her face. Seconds later, she knew why. Trystan appeared beside her.
“Are we dancing?” he asked, his familiar deep voice flowing over her exciting her.
“I told you before I had no wish to dance with you,” she bit off. Please understand me, Tryst. For no matter their differences, she did not want him to die. Or herself.
“And I promised your father I would dance once since you seem to be lacking in prospects.” His words were gritted out low but the frustration he felt, obvious.
“You are a pain in my ass,” she muttered in the African dialect she knew he spoke. Hopefully this woman did not.
“Ahh, more pleasantries I am sure. Come, let us get this dance over with.” He nodded at The Alchemist. “Please pardon Miss Adrys here, she has a problem following the simplest of things.”
“No need to say anything,” the woman said. Again her tone soft and dulcet as she watched Trystan with those blue eyes.
“This is her.” Again, Jo spoke the other language praying he knew what she meant.
If he understood, he gave no indication of it. Not unless taking her by the hand was his tell. Then she felt him tapping her wrist. He must know. She moved sideways a little bit to give him a bit more maneuvering room.
“Jo?” Clara walked up and stood beside her. “Duchess Haversham would like a word with you.”
“Go tell her I will be right there.”
Her friend hesitated.
“Go, Clara.” Jo wanted to scream at her to get out of there, but she used everything within her to keep her voice calm.
“Why do you not go with her now, Jo,” Tryst said. “We will dance the next dance. After you talk to the duchess.”
“Why does she not just stay here, with us?” That statement laced with danger.
Now he moved, positioning himself directly in front of her and Jo took the opportunity to shove Clara and tell her. “Go. Find Royce and tell him The Alchemist is here.”
“Her?”
“Clara, go!”
Fist holding her dress, Clara did.
“Get back out here so I can see you,” The Alchemist snapped.
Jo did, despite Trystan trying to hamper her way. She saw the woman holding a flintlock pistol in each hand.
“I will kill you if you harm her,” he growled.
“So you do care. See, and here she said you did not.”
“You have been ahead of us for a long time, this is between you and me.” Tryst’s voice remained calm.
Her smile was ugly and completely changed how she looked. Jo did not like the feeling that created within her. The woman jerked her head to the side.
“Nice and easy. It would be a shame to kill you so quickly, before we got to have any fun.”
“This will never work,” Trystan said.
“I am no fool. As we speak my men are surrounding the room, each with a specific target.” A shrug. “Play nice or this will turn into a massacre.”
Jo swallowed and watched as Trystan’s face paled. “You want me, you have me. Let the others go.” He tried again.
“No.”
Now here he stood before a woman who looked identical to the one he had seen hang seven years ago. Twins. There was no mistaking it now the fan had been lowered. If he had only listened to Jo. Perhaps she would not be beside him with one of two flintlocks pointed at her chest.
Jo did not seem overly bothered by their situation. He could feel a light tremble every now and then but she did not let it show.
“What do you want?” He had to find a way to get Jo out of danger. His team may have died before but there was no way he would lose Jo.
“Is it not obvious? I want you to die.”
“Shoot me.”
The laugh was maniacal, the same as it had been the night he lost his team. Memories swarmed him and he battled them back. He could feel regret and remorse later. Right now, he had to keep these people safe.
“No. That would be too easy, you are going to suffer, Lord Wilkes.” She gestured with her chin, those pistols remaining unwavering. “Outside.”
Moving cautiously so she would not prematurely pull the trigger and shoot him, Tryst guided Jo before him to the door.
“Wait for my cue,” he murmured in their shared language.
She did not respond, just gave the barest of nods. He was so proud of her. Outside a hack waited.
“In.”
Trystan found the three men who stood near and glanced back at the woman. “No.”
“You think I will not shoot you?”
“You let Miss Adrys go and I will get in.”
“No. I promised her to Stanton. She is coming as well.”
His blood froze. Promised her to Stanton? Over his dead body.
“Ian Crane, Earl of Stanton?” he asked, tensing.
“Yes. He has been so kind as to keep me appraised of goings on while I have been…elsewhere. For his loyalty he gets a prize and he told me he wanted Miss Adrys.”
Jo stiffened in front of him and he nudged her to keep walking.
“He will not lay a hand on her.”
“See, you must care for her. Acting like you have a say in the matter. Do not worry, you can have your time in the hack to say your farewells. He will be by after the party to pick her up.”
Trystan stopped and noted Jo followed. “Then you will have to kill me now.” Beyond the shadows around the coach, he saw men he knew coming and realized the tide had turned. He had stalled long enough. Turning sideways so he could see both the woman as well as the men at the hack, he drew Jo so his body protected hers.
“Take them and put them in.” She spoke as if directing a servant where to set a plate.
The three men approached and he readied for the confrontation. They were big, yes. But he did not care. This was more than defending the Crown, this was defending Jo.
Two went after him and one after Jo. Immediately he was engaged in fighting them off. Fists flew and punches landed. He heard the other man cry out in pain and saw him double over in pain. Jo had landed a good hit with her knee.
“Run!” he shouted. Stars exploded before his eyes as a gigantic fist connected with his jaw. He countered and took the man down, hard. No remorse and no mercy. All his attention on the other men, he prayed that Jo listened to him.
Shots rang out and he jerked as a small ball tore into his flesh. He landed hard in the street, rolled, and returned to his feet. More men had arrived and were fighting. He spied Cam relieving another of his weapons. Jack had The Alchemist and Jo was near Clara, Major McCutcheon, and Royce.
Slamming the head of the man nearest him into the ground, Trystan stood, wove a slight bit, and righted himself. There were people running around and women screaming. Instantly he focused on Jo again, she held onto Clara. He noticed the protective way she kept herself in front of her friend.
Another showed up beside him and took charge of the man he had just taken down. Brushing by an approaching person, he headed toward Jo and those she was with. His blood sang with the urge to kill the woman posing as The Alchemist.
Jo broke away and walked to him, her blue eyes full of concern. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. There was a screech and the woman who had lost her blonde wig, leaving her a brunette, lunged at Clara, the men closed ranks immediately, Royce blocking her with his body.
“No!”
Jo turned with him and they saw Royce lowering Clara to the ground. She bolted to her friend and he followed. Jo knelt beside her and he doubted she knew she knelt in mud. Shaking off his dizziness, he leaned over and saw the single scratch on her bared shoulder. Poison. He knew that instinctively.
“Clara,” Jo said. “Hang in there.” She looked around wildly. “Do something! Do not just stand there.”
Duchess Haversham pushed her way through and said, “Check her. Most do not carry poison without the antidote as well. Just in case.”
Jack unceremoniously felt the woman all over and shoved up her skirts to remove the belt she had around one upper thigh. A small vial was secured in one of the slots. He tossed it to Royce who hesitated and looked down at the woman in his arms.
“Hurry, Royce.” Jo’s voice was strained.
He tipped the contents into her mouth and people waited to see what would happen. A loud bang sounded and Trystan jerked. What the hell? Pain radiated up from his abdomen and everything got blurry. And tilted.
Jo looked at him, her eyes wide with horror. The last thing he remembered was her pushing away from Clara and running toward him, then his world went black.
Chapter Seventeen
I woke today with memories of the funeral for Trystan’s father. I do not understand how he could have stood there so devoid of any emotion. Maybe they are right and he does not have a heart or soul. Surely they are wrong. There are times when I see a glimpse of the man I know he truly is. Or is that the man I want him to be? I should not be selfish. For who am I to decide what is the proper way to grieve? I wanted so much to go to his side and slide my hand into his, offer some comfort. Yet I never moved, knowing it would not be accepted.
~From the private journal of Josephine Adrys
It was not until she reached Trystan’s side that Jo realized that unholy scream came from her own throat. She had been watching him surreptitiously as he stood a bit back, surveying the situation. He had been shot already, his arm dripped blood, but he did not seem to notice.
Then came the next one. His body had wrenched and he had stumbled back, a confused and pained look on his face. She had watched the red blossom over the white of his shirt, which had become exposed during the fight when his jacket tore. It took her a moment to realize what had happened.
She was on her feet and running when he hit the ground. Major McCutcheon tried to stop her but she dodged him. She slid on her knees to halt beside Trystan, whose eyes were closed. Skin ripped and tore beneath her dress, she did not care.
She clamped a hand over the wound, trying to stop the stain from spreading. Around her, men hollered out orders, yet she could not tear her gaze from the man beside her.
“Trystan,” she gasped. He did not respond. Her gloves were soaked and nothing she did seemed to stop the flow of blood. “Damn you. Do not leave me.”
She wiped her nose and eyes before pressing harder. Looking across the way, she found Clara still laid out, unmoving as well. There was no satisfaction in knowing Jack had finally caught The Alchemist. None at all. The price had been too high. And yet, it truly could have been so much worse.
“Move.”
She peered up to find a familiar face standing over them. Berry, who used to be Colin’s valet, crouched beside her. She knew he had also been a medic in the Navy. But she would not leave Trystan.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I will have one of
the men help me.”
“Damn you, Berry. I am not leaving him. Save him and tell me what to do.”
“I have to prepare him for transportation so we can get him off the street.”
She followed when they lifted him and put him in the hack that would have participated in her kidnapping. Foot on the step she hesitated glancing over to where Clara lay. Royce looked at her and nodded. She entered and they began moving even before the door closed.