“John,” she called out, drawing up the linen farther around her shoulders until all skin was buried from sight. She was long past pretending that her life was anything but what it was: widowhood and scandal.
The large man froze and glanced up. “Yes, my lady?”
“You know the man you just saw? The one with the patch?”
He lowered his gaze. “Yes?”
She quieted her voice. “I will pay you an additional fifty pounds to follow him about Town until he calls on me again. He is downstairs right now, getting dressed. I ask that you follow him out and watch over him. Ensure no one touches him and ensure you tell me everything there is to know about him. Will you do it?”
He glanced up, his brows rising as if he had been bestowed with some sort of a title. “Gladly. I once served in the military. Infantry.”
She smiled. “Yes, I know. Which is why I’m entrusting this to you. Thank you. Now, I suggest you bring pistols, for I will warn you, I have no idea how involved this may get. Should you fear for your life at any point, involve the authorities. I do not want you or anyone else getting hurt. For I know nothing about this man.”
“I’ll heed that, my lady. And you needn’t worry. I’ll ensure my own safety.” With a quick bow, John jogged down the corridor, disappearing.
Bernadette leaned against the frame of the door. In terms of learning more about the dangerous side of Matthew, that was one route established. Next, she needed to speak to Georgia.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Let your memory be of death, punishment and glory. Not merely the glory.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
OPENING THE NARROW DOOR to the small hackney that waited for him just down the cobblestone street from Bernadette’s townhome, Matthew angled in. Slamming the door behind himself, he slid toward the inner wall of the carriage on the seat beside Coleman, adjusting his great coat around his frame and the pistols tucked into his leather belt.
He, Matthew Joseph Milton, was a prick. A worthless prick. Why? Because he was bringing the incredible, edible Bernadette into his mess of a life without letting her know what the hell she had just gotten herself into. He was damn certain there was a commandment somewhere against this in the bible. Like, “Thou shalt not covet a woman without informing said woman that thou art a gang leader.”
“So how much did she end up giving us?” Coleman pressed.
Ah. Yes. That. Matthew reached up and casually knocked on the roof of the hackney to signal the driver to leave. “I didn’t take any money.”
Coleman sat up. “What? What do you mean? Why not? What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“What do you mean nothing happened? You were in there for two goddamn hours. What were you doing while nothing was happening?”
Two hours? It felt like a breath.
As the hackney rolled forward, Matthew could do nothing in that moment but stare at his hands. And although he could barely see them in the waving shadows of the night, he could still feel them. He could feel her softness, her skin, her touch, that fragrance of powder and citrus, and it was as enchanting as it was eerie.
He’d never wanted a woman like this before. Never. Not in a way that made him unable to breathe or think. He had left that long, long ago with Miss bloody Drake and the lad who would try to kiss her and stupidly quote poetry, only to realize that while he would have sacrificed everything for her, she couldn’t and wouldn’t and didn’t sacrifice a thing for him. She had let him fade away into the Five Points and went on to marry his best friend from his old life barely a few months later. It was something he’d never forgiven either of them for. But this...this was... It felt—
Coleman shifted toward him. “So what did you do whilst you were in there? Because I’m just bloody wondering what took you two whistling hours, only to walk out with nothing.”
Matthew tried not to get overagitated with the man. “She and I are officially involved. All right? So feck the money. We’ll get it elsewhere. We’ll take on five jobs shoveling dung if we have to, because I’m not taking money from a woman I’m looking to make my own.”
Coleman paused and then boomed, “You— What! What the hell do you mean you’re involved? You mean, you’re fucking her? Already?”
“Why do you always make everything sound so disgustingly vile? It wasn’t like that at all and I’m not saying any more. But I will say this—I’m not taking money from her. I’m not.”
“Oh, I see. It’s all about you and into Salt River I go. Maybe I ought to wrap that overambitious cock of yours with a satin bow and sell it to the Queen for fifty to ensure we both get the money we need.”
Matthew feigned a not-so-enthused laugh. “Since we’re on the topic of cocks and satin bows, why not just call on that father of yours and ask him for the money? He’s got plenty of it, being an aristo, doesn’t he?”
Coleman’s voice hardened to the edge of lethal. “I’m not touching coffers lined with the plague. Call me a tad superstitious. If I call on my father, I can assure you, neither of us are going to want to be in Town.”
God knows what that meant. Matthew shifted against the seat. “Your financial situation is not my problem anymore. I’ve got a woman to impress.”
Coleman kicked his boot into Matthew’s. “What the hell is this? A rescue in the park, two hours in her parlor and you’re undone? Are you that devoid of common sense? Since when?”
Matthew dug his fist into his palm. “Since now. You have a problem with that?”
Coleman flopped himself back against the seat as the carriage rounded yet another corner. “Was it that good? Hell, maybe I ought to prance myself over and see what my cock is worth.”
Matthew narrowed his gaze. Though he couldn’t see anything but the hard outlining shadows of Coleman’s face in the swaying darkness, he leaned toward him and hissed out, “No one mocks me. You got that? I mock me. And don’t you fecking talk of going near her, or you’ll wish you were dead. You’ll wish.”
Coleman coughed out a rough laugh. “For you to be talking to me like this means she blew a hole in your head the size of Manhattan. Who ever thought you’d go down so easy?” Holding out both hands, he clapped jeeringly. “Well, bravo on that. It appears you finally found yourself a girl to fill that stupid list of being a family man. So now what? Do you plan on carrying her off into the Five Points and settling her in with all the rats? Or did you forget to tell her about the rats? And when I mean rats, I don’t mean the real ones. I mean the boys.”
Matthew pointed rigidly at him. “If I didn’t know any better, Coleman, I’d say you were jealous. And to hell with you and that. This woman happens to be the epitome of everything I ever wanted, and if that bothers you, I suggest you go slit your throat. Because I have a right to a life outside the boys.”
Coleman shifted. “I’m confused. Are you actually staying here in London? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Matthew let out a sigh. He knew he’d have to face this question eventually. “I don’t know what I’m doing quite yet. But I do know one thing—I’m not walking away from her and this after what happened tonight.”
“Well...you can’t hang the boys like this. Especially with me not going back. The swipe is over and they’re all waiting for you to do the right thing. And what about Ronan? He’s holding your goddamn tenement for you. You know how that boy depends on you for everything. You told him you’d be back.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” Matthew threw his head back and hit it repeatedly against the seat, hating his life. He couldn’t even get involved with a woman without choking on the guilt of his responsibility to the ward.
They sat in silence the rest of the way.
The hackney eventually rolled to a stop before Limmer’s. The side door opened. Yellow light from the dirty gas streetlamp edged in, illuminating sections of the interior.
Leaning forward, Coleman said, “I still need money.”
“Dam
n you for breathing.” Though Matthew could grouch for years about it, he knew he owed the man this and more. “Keep boxing and I’ll give you whatever I make. All right? I’ll simply get back to New York later than expected. Which I don’t mind. It’ll allow me to figure all of this out.”
Coleman hesitated. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“It’s about time you do.”
“Limmer’s!” the driver shouted from outside in reminder. “Gents? You coming out?”
They paused and jumped out of the hackney and into the misty dampness of the night. Matthew tossed a coin from his pocket up at the driver. He rounded toward the entrance of Limmer’s. Thick fog hovered all around, dimming the yellow glow of the gas lamps that lingered at the end of the narrow, filthy cobblestone road.
Sensing someone was watching them, Matthew turned slightly. Through his one eye, he glimpsed a sorely misplaced black-lacquered carriage lingering just down the street with a driver and burly footman in the front box watching them.
He turned away, pretending he never saw them. “Coleman,” he said through lips he didn’t move. “We’re being watched.”
Coleman hissed out a breath but didn’t turn. He lowered his voice. “Why would we be watched?”
Matthew pushed him toward Limmer’s. “I don’t know. Just keep moving.”
“Are they from New York?”
“They can’t be. Our sort can’t afford to cross an ocean, let alone hire a carriage like that.” He paused. “Does your father know you’re in Town?”
“As you damn well know, I haven’t approached the bastard yet.”
“Then who knows?”
“No one other than Georgia.”
Seeing it obviously couldn’t be Georgia sending men after them, Matthew knew they’d have to unravel this soon.
CHAPTER NINE
INFORMATION WANTED
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
The following afternoon
Park Lane
WITH A LOPSIDED GRIN, Georgia whirled her way into the room on quick slippered feet, her chartreuse morning gown swaying against her playful, sweeping movements. “In all but five days, I make Robinson kneel and crawl. And I hate to say it, Lady Burton, but I can’t wait.”
Between the two of them, it would seem there was nothing left to talk about but men. Bernadette smiled. “I hope everything goes as planned.”
“Oh, it will.” Still grinning, Georgia hurried toward her. “I haven’t heard from you since our little trot through the park. How have you been?”
“Hanging off a cloud, I suppose.” Bernadette didn’t even give Georgia an opportunity to sit when she went on. “I know how busy you are establishing yourself here in London, and I am desperately trying not to impede upon Mr. Astor’s plans, so I will make this brief and scurry off. I need you to tell me more about this Mr. Milton. Can you? Please?”
Georgia jerked to a halt, her gathered strawberry-red curls quivering. A pert laugh escaped her lips as equally amused green eyes met hers. “That one is what I call trouble, trouble, trouble.”
This was encouraging. “I’m already in trouble,” Bernadette couldn’t help but admit. She glanced toward the doorway of the parlor, half-expecting Mrs. Astor to walk in, and prayed the woman wouldn’t. Bernadette lowered her voice. “He called on me last night.”
Georgia seated herself majestically and arranged her morning gown about her feet before quirking a rusty brow. “And?”
If it had been anyone else, Bernadette would have quietly risen from her upholstered chair and walked out the door. But this was Georgia. The girl who snorted. The girl who excitedly clapped at having her freckles disappear beneath cosmetics. The girl who had no qualms about saying words like piss and feck. The girl who happened to be Bernadette’s closest thing to a friend. Actually, the only female friend she had. “I let him bed me.”
Georgia’s eyes widened. She leaned forward in the chair, clutching the armrests as if she were about to fall out of it. “You let Matthew Joseph Milton bed you? Oh, now, Lady Burton, that’s just—” She pretended to spit twice over the side of her chair before letting out a heaving sigh. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Bernadette lowered her chin, annoyed with the idea that she had to defend herself. “Because I find him to be profoundly genuine, irresistible, incredibly attractive, and despite my inability to trust myself in this, I am desperately hoping I don’t have to live the rest of my life thinking all men are bastards. That is why.”
Georgia leaned back against the chair. “I suppose that’s good enough for me. What would you like to know?”
“Everything.”
Georgia giggled. “I don’t know everything, but I do know enough to make the poor man blush.”
“Even better. Out with it. Start with his date of birth.”
Glancing up toward the ceiling, Georgia tapped a manicured finger against her knee and puffed out a breath. “His date of birth is the twentieth of December. Which will make him...thirty by the end of this year. He’s incredibly intelligent, though his actions sometimes beg to differ with that. He loves children—though I know I wouldn’t trust mine to him, lest they learn things they shouldn’t. He leads a vigilante group known as the Forty Thieves and is rather involved in the politics of the city, though sadly, no one ever takes him seriously. The mayor has brushed him off for years, despite Matthew having written over several dozen letters to the man.”
Georgia leaned forward in the chair again. “Did you know that, since I’ve known him, and I’ve known him since I was fifteen, he hasn’t bought himself any new clothes? Nor has he taken the time to steal any. Not a single button’s worth. He thinks it’s vain and not worth the money, and therefore opts to patch and repatch everything he owns instead. Whatever money he does get, be it earned or not, he stupidly gives away to others, which is why he never has anything. He cuts his own hair whenever it gets too long, because although it only costs two pennies at the barber off Mulberry, he’s that cheap. His best friend is Edward Coleman, which should tell you his taste in friends is questionable, because Coleman is a boxer, a gambler and a heathen, though I will say all the women in the Five Points absolutely adore him and are forever trying to get their hands on him.”
Georgia paused. “But then again, they’re all whores so maybe that doesn’t say much. Oh, and if you really want to annoy Matthew, fix his patch for him when it’s crooked. He hates that.” Georgia pertly returned her gaze to Bernadette’s, her finger no longer tapping against her knee. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”
Despite all of those little snide commentaries, and the man leading some vigilante group, it was obvious this Matthew was unlike any man she’d ever met. He loved children? And wrote letters to the mayor? “Might I ask why he walks around with pistols and razors? Is he a criminal? I know he looks like one, but he doesn’t act like one and this talk of him loving children and writing letters to the mayor clearly hints of a soft side. He mentioned people not liking him. Who doesn’t like him and why?”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “When a man gets himself involved in street politics, as we call it over in the sixth ward, everyone will eventually want him dead. He walks around with a razor and pistols because, where we came from, it’s either shoot, slice or die. And yes, I hate to say it, but he’s a criminal. Not your average criminal, mind you. He does good and right by others, but he thieves in order to maintain his group of gallivanting banshees, and whether he realizes it or not, it’s leeching his morals dry. He’s trying to wrestle hope and self-respect out in the Five Point filth, not caring that it gets all over him. And in the end, he just can’t get it off. I’ll also say that, sadly, it’s all about money for him.”
Bernadette bit her bottom lip before dragging it loose to say, “For a man, whom you say only cares about money, he has turned away any opportunity I might have offered him. Are you telling me it’s a ploy?”
Georgia paused, squinting at her. “So he has
n’t asked you for money? Or taken anything from you?”
“No. In fact, last night, when I asked him if he needed any, he outright scolded me for it.”
Georgia’s features softened. “You’re clearly getting to see a different side of him.” A small smile frilled her lips. “It sounds as if you touched him in the right way. It’s a pride thing now. He never takes money from his own. ’Tis obvious he already thinks you’re his.”
Feeling her stomach flutter, Bernadette pressed, “What do you mean by that? I know he and I shared a bed, but—”
“All I can say—” Georgia leaned forward again
“—given what I know of him, is that Matthew is very particular about his women and only jumps when he thinks she could be the one. If he thinks you’re the one, Lady Burton, well...you are well and done for. He’ll put a pistol to your head before he’ll let you walk away. So congratulations. It sounds as though you’ve got yourself a husband.”
Bernadette felt herself panicking. “But I don’t want a husband. I made that very clear to him last night. Very clear. I was in no way misleading.”
Georgia smirked. “It doesn’t matter what you say or think. Matthew is the sort of man who leads. Not follows. Which means, he decides what happens. Not you. Would you like some tea?”
Bernadette’s eyes widened. “No. No tea.” What under heaven and above hell had she gotten herself involved with?
CHAPTER TEN
Not the smallest clue at present remains that is likely to unravel this mysterious transaction, which appears to have been instigated by a robbery.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
Days later, evening
Piccadilly Square
BERNADETTE PLAYED OUT her angst and thoughts against the ivory keys of the piano, fluidly leaning in and out, in and out, as her hands moved rhythmically across the length of the keys. Unlike everything else around her, she could always depend on the ivory beneath her fingertips to respond in the way she wanted them to. It was always beautifully perfect once she mastered a piece. If only she could say the same about everything else in life.
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