She could only hope she had heard him wrong. “What did you say?”
“It’s true,” he replied, but she could tell that from his face. “I’m engaged to be married.”
She pressed a hand to her chest as she tried to absorb this revelation. She had thought he would blame the situation he was in, the fact that his own future was uncertain, that his stint in Wapping could drag on. She had not expected another woman! Why hadn’t he mentioned being in love? And that woman was going to be his wife!
“Who . . . who is she?” Dear God, she could scarcely form the words.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does it matter? The less you know about me and my life, the better.”
She blinked at him as she struggled to rally. Was this her fault? He had warned her not to get her hopes up, just as he said. She was the one who had blown sexual interest and compatibility into something more—because of her naiveté.
No wonder he had been trying so hard to keep his hands to himself.
Embarrassed by how forward she had been, how wanton, she managed the best smile she could under the circumstances, and politely dipped her head. “I see and I . . . I nearly forced myself on you on two separate occasions. I sincerely apologize. I didn’t realize your heart was taken.” She turned to get her elephant.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m leaving, of course. As you wish.” She abandoned the mirror and brush he gave her—obviously she had been deluded to think that was any kind of real gift—as well as the dress she had made from his clothes (how angry he must be about that), and tried to skirt past him.
He caught her by the arm. “Wait, please. I’ll take you after Jack goes to sleep.”
He had asked her to vacate the premises and she had agreed, but he didn’t appear to be pleased by the victory. If she had to guess, he was angry, and it was no wonder. Thanks to her silly infatuation, and the vain imaginings of her virgin heart, she had made fools of them both. If only he could have explained earlier . . .
“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” she said. “I will be fine.”
“You can’t go alone.” His fingers bit into her arm when she tried to pull away, but she could scarcely feel the pressure. There were too many things going on elsewhere in her body. Her chest was tight, her eyes burned.
She cleared her throat, trying to remove the lump that made it difficult to speak. “It’s broad daylight. Besides, I came down here on my own, didn’t I? Unhand me, sir.”
He looked strangely crestfallen when he gazed down at her. “Sir? I am sir to you now?”
“I don’t know what else to call you! I have already apologized for my . . . inexpert attempt to . . . to turn our relationship into more than you wish it to be. I can only beg your forbearance and understanding, given my lack of experience, and ask you to let me go so that I no longer have to suffer the humiliation of sitting here with you, knowing I encouraged you to . . . to act on certain base desires I misconstrued.”
“You didn’t misconstrue anything. I—never mind,” he said with some impatience. “There is nothing to be gained by trying to explain my actions. Just know that I assume full responsibility and lay no fault at your feet.”
“Thank you.” Again, she started to go, but he stopped her.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you won’t be leaving this house until I can escort you.” He glared down at her, his expression unyielding. So she backed up in order to get him to release her—it was too difficult being in such close proximity, too embarrassing to think she had flirted so terribly with a man committed to marrying another woman—and sat down to wait.
Silence settled over them. She tried to draw some sort of calm from it, but the tears she had been fighting began to slip down her cheeks. Mortified that she would embarrass herself further, she bent her head to stare at the floor. She hoped he wouldn’t notice, but when he cursed, she guessed he had.
“You love the college,” he said.
It was almost an accusation. She didn’t respond. What could she say? This had nothing to do with loving the college and everything to do with loving a man—loving him. In spite of all her previous opinions about marriage, she had begun to believe that she had found her place in the world, at last, and it was by his side.
“Someday they might admit you,” he added. “I mean . . . it’s a possibility, however remote.”
She wanted to wipe her cheeks, but she feared that would only draw attention to her distress.
He cleared his throat. “And think of how happy your father will be to see you.”
Her father would indeed be relieved. She missed him, and she missed others at Aldersgate. But what had happened over the past several days had radically changed how she viewed her future. There would be no going back to the way things were—even if her father allowed it. She was too aware of her own loneliness. This stint as a body snatcher—as loathsome as the job was, as loathsome as Jack and the rest were—had somehow brought her more fulfillment than she had ever known before. And what did she have at the college? She couldn’t even count on having a career, like her father.
There was no point in explaining any of that to Max, however. Why would what might become of her be any of his concern?
“Abby, are you listening? Everything will be fine.”
She didn’t look up.
“Because even if they don’t admit you, someday you will meet the right man—someone who will marry you and make you happy to be a wife and mother.”
As if taking too much for granted wasn’t humiliating enough, she had to sit there, crying as he told her how happy she would be with another man? Was he picturing how happy he would be with his betrothed?
Her gaze cut to the door, but he stepped in front of it, cutting her off before she could even make the attempt.
When she realized how carefully he was watching her, she dashed a hand across her face. What was the use of trying to hide her emotions? He could tell she was in tears, or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to console her.
“Don’t cry,” he said then, softly. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
She sniffed. “I’m not blaming you. I’m the bumbling halfwit. I understand that. I’m not sure how you avoided laughing at my clumsy attempts to . . . to make love to you.”
He seemed stricken by her last comment. “Don’t say that. I wasn’t tempted to laugh because there was nothing clumsy about it. Your touch, it . . . it tested me almost beyond my ability to resist.”
She laughed humorlessly. “Of course it did. A man here, alone in this room with his . . . his betrothed elsewhere. I’m sure any woman would have been a temptation. So put us both out of our misery and let me go. Once I walk out that door, you will never have to see me again.”
His face fell as if the thought of that made him feel as bad as it did her. “I’m not in such a rush that I would risk your safety.”
“Oh bother! You have no say in the matter!” She got up in spite of his refusal—but before she could take a single step, someone banged on the front door downstairs.
“Jack! Damn you! What have you done to my brother?”
Her own troubles momentarily forgotten, Abby looked to Max.
“It’s Peter, Tom’s brother,” Max said. “I’ve met him before. And from the way he’s slurring his words, the poor bastard’s drunk.”
A keening wail rose to their ears. “You’ve killed him. I know you have. Open up for what you’ve got comin’, or I’ll break down the blasted door!”
Jack or Bill—Abigail couldn’t tell which from up in the bedroom—must have let Tom’s brother in, which was a mistake. Max knew it was, too, because the second that happened, he barked at her to stay put and hurried down the stairs.
“He told me you’d be after him!” Tom’s brother went on, his voice ricoch
eting through the house. “He said you were the devil hisself! What have you done with him, huh? Did you sell him to the bloody anatomists?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Jack sounded rather complacent for being falsely accused of murder, and he maintained that smug complacency throughout the argument that ensued.
Worried about Max in spite of her previous pique, Abigail moved out of the room. She stood at the top of the stairs, listening, as Tom’s brother insisted that a friend of his saw Jack and Bill dragging Tom through an alley.
Both Hurtsill brothers denied it. Max tried to act as mediator, tried to get Tom’s brother to put down a pistol. But then a blast rang through the air and there was a scuffle—what sounded like a few overturned chairs and two or more men wrestling.
Max managed to get the gun away from Peter, but it hadn’t been easy with Jack trying to retaliate by coming after the man with that knife of his.
“Stupid bastard.” Jack glowered at Peter while Max pinned him to the wall.
Max thought Bill had been seriously injured. Jack’s brother sat slumped on the floor, where he’d fallen when the gun went off. But a closer look revealed that the bullet had only grazed his arm.
“That bloke shot me,” he said, eyes glazed.
“Don’t you worry, brother, he ever comes at us again, he’ll get what’s comin’ to him.” Jack turned the knife in his hand. “Then we’ll have us another corpse to sell.”
“Sometimes I think you’d sell mine, Jack,” his brother mumbled.
“Just don’t die on me,” Jack said with a laugh.
Feeling as if Jack could finally be trusted to restrain himself for the moment, Max turned his attention to Tom’s brother. “Are you finished here? I dare say it’s time for you to go home while you can still do so with all your body parts intact.”
“You should have let me kill him,” Jack said. “It would have been self-defense, clear and simple.”
“No one’s going to hurt him,” Max said.
“What have you done with my brother?” Peter asked, but he looked deflated, more distraught than dangerous.
Max addressed Bill and Jack. “Where does he belong? I’ll take him to his wife.”
“He has no wife—or other family,” Bill said.
“Except Tom,” Max reminded him.
The Hurtsills exchanged a look that made the blood run cold in Max’s veins. There was no more brother—no more Tom. Max felt certain of it. But just as he was about to call Bill on the slip, he saw Abby standing on the steps, gaping at the scene below her.
“Go back upstairs,” he said.
She didn’t do as he directed. She shook her head. “No. I’m leaving. I’m finished here.”
She hurried down the final three steps and attempted to circumvent them, but Jack intercepted her.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “You had us give that money back to the college, said you’d help us replace it and you’re gonna do just that. I won’t have you betray me like this bastard’s brother did. We’re goin’ to be a mite more careful around here. So get your pretty little arse up those stairs before you wind up in my bed instead of Max’s.”
Her gaze riveted on the blood seeping down Bill’s arm. “I want no part of this.”
“What, you can’t take a little blood?” Jack scoffed.
“It’s not the blood I’m worried about.” When she met his gaze, her eyes narrowed with scathing accusation. “I’m afraid you killed Tom.”
“It’s that kind of talk that’ll get you in trouble,” he warned. “I don’t know where Tom is. I haven’t seen him, and I won’t have you saying otherwise—to anyone. You understand? You decided to become one of us. It’s too late to back out now.”
She licked her lips, obviously nervous. “You’re not . . . you’re not going to have Max lock me in the room again.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Jack said. “If you go missing, I’ll hold Max accountable—and I’ll do everything I can to destroy your father.”
Max dragged Tom’s brother to the door and pushed him outside without the pistol he had brought. That lay on the floor, where Max had forced him to drop it once he got off that first shot. “There’s no need to threaten either of us,” he told Jack while keeping one eye on Tom’s brother to be sure he scrambled away and wouldn’t cause any more trouble.
All the excitement set Borax off. He strained against his leash, barking and jumping in an effort to reach Tom’s brother, but, even drunk, Peter managed to avoid the dog.
“I won’t be having you tell me my business ever again, Max,” Jack said above the din. “You’ve crossed that line one too many times—do you understand? You mind that bitch of yours and do your job, and we’ll get along just fine. ’Cause if you don’t”—he used his knife to punctuate his words—“one way or another, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Max closed and locked the door. “Like you did with Tom?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me to take this any further. Tom got only what he deserved.”
Max measured his chances of wresting that knife away. He felt as if he could overcome Jack; physically, Jack was no match for him. But he feared Bill would grab Abby. Jack’s brother was already standing up and moving closer. And if it came down to a standoff, it would cost him any chance he had of finding Madeline. He wouldn’t be able to achieve justice for that woman Jack brought home—or for Tom, either.
Max wanted to see Jack properly punished for whatever he had done, so he clenched his jaw and overcame the impulse to act. First, he would get everything he wanted out of Jack and Bill—so that he could save Madeline, if she was still alive.
“Abby, go back upstairs,” he said, and this time she did as she was told.
Chapter 19
Jack refused to go to bed even though he clearly needed some sleep. Max wasn’t sure how the man remained on his feet. He was running on gin, and gin alone. But Jack was odd like that. Sometimes he would stay up for several days in a row. He said he couldn’t sleep, especially during the day, didn’t like feeling as if the world was going on without him.
Max wished exhaustion would take over—or that the man would simply pass out. But that didn’t happen. He insisted they all go out together and search for Emmett. Although Max argued that Abby should be allowed to stay at the house, and then that they could cover more ground if they split up, Jack rejected both propositions. He said no one was going to be anywhere he couldn’t see them.
Jack was growing paranoid, Max thought. And that concerned him. It made the gang leader even more volatile and dangerous than he already was.
Besides checking the garret where Emmett lived, not far from Execution Dock, they visited several brothels and taverns and talked to people in the streets. No one had seen Emmett.
“Maybe Tom knows where he is,” Max suggested, trying to get Jack to reveal more about what might have happened to Tom. But that achieved little. Jack didn’t even answer. And his mood seemed to worsen as the hours passed. No doubt he didn’t feel well after being up for so long. But the way he watched Abby made Max nervous. Max should have gotten her away from the London Supply Company when he could have. Instead he had let her lie to that constable and join the gang—and now he feared it was too late. Even if he took her home after Jack went to sleep, Jack knew where she lived. Max feared he would only become determined to punish her as he had punished Tom. That meant her father or someone else at the college could get hurt, too.
He would have to keep her by his side a little longer, Max decided. But he already knew it wasn’t going to be easy to lie beside her each night and not touch what he had grown so familiar with. She would scarcely look at him now, but the memory of her body, rising to meet the thrust of his hand, played in his mind over and over again, making his heart pound in his chest.
When they finally abandoned the search an
d returned to Farmer’s Landing, Abby ate a small dinner and went up to their room. They had gotten in late the night before. Then they had been so caught up in each other that they had slept for only a few hours. She had to be almost as exhausted as Jack was. Max knew he was.
Sure enough, when Max joined Abby, he found her in bed, facing away from him. She gave no indication that she even heard him come in.
He closed the door and locked it for good measure. Bill was gone but Jack was home. Max didn’t want him to wake before they did, didn’t want him coming in while he and Abby were sleeping. They had to be extra careful going forward. Jack had drawn battle lines—and was waiting to see if Max would cross them.
Max hoped he would be able to avoid doing so for as long as it would take to learn Madeline’s fate—for as long as it would take to get them all out of there alive. But there were no guarantees. He would have to cross those lines eventually, and once he did, anything could happen.
“I should have left you at Aldersgate when we delivered that corpse,” he said. There was an edge to his voice; no doubt she heard it. But he wasn’t angry with her. He was angry with himself for ignoring his better judgment. As much as he wanted to blame Abby for insisting on returning, he knew that wasn’t entirely fair. If, deep down, he hadn’t wanted to keep her with him, he would have made her stay at the school.
She said nothing, and yet he could tell she wasn’t asleep.
“Are you not speaking to me?” That was all he could guess. She had barely said a word to him since they left earlier.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked. “You’ve already made it clear you don’t want me here. I would go if I could.”
He wished he could see her face. How upset was she?
He couldn’t tell, because she didn’t roll over. “I just want you to be safe.”
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t stay at Aldersgate last night.”
“Excuse me?”
“Who knows how Jack might have reacted if I didn’t come back? We’re in the middle of this now. We have to see it through.”
A Matter of Grave Concern Page 20