An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  Which brought her to the hard part—leaving her family. Not that she had family, she reminded herself. But she did consider Lady Eleanor and her dear sisters-in-law the closest thing to family one could have in lieu of blood relations. Oh, Cousin Lottie would be wonderful to live with, but Kyra had practically grown up with Lady Eleanor. The woman had been her mother’s dearest friend and a guiding light for Kyra after her mother’s death. It was part of what made marrying Grif so appealing—living with the Ashford family was like going home for her.

  Grif, of course, was the other difficulty. In spite of everything, she found that the thought of leaving Grif was much, much more painful than she had expected. ‘Struth, it felt as though she were tearing out the last remains of her badly tattered heart and tossing them to the dogs.

  Kyra sighed and rubbed the slight curve of her belly. Just the other day she’d noticed it wasn’t as flat as it had been. A slight thrill surged through her, chased by a deep sorrow. She had thought she would be sharing this excitement with her husband. It made her happiness at the tiny bump bittersweet.

  Leaving was her only option, Kyra told herself for the hundredth time. Even if Grif cleared his name, which he undoubtedly would, she couldn’t possibly fathom living with his indifference. Not for her child. Her child would know only joy, even if it meant moving an ocean away from the one man she would ever love.

  Kyra opened the curtain and drank in the sounds and sights of the city. Leaving was the right thing, she told herself again. She and her child would find happiness. Better yet, they would create their own happiness. Until then, however, she had a few months to mourn the loss of her dreams.

  * * *

  Grif stared at his wife’s graceful handwriting, reading through the gut-wrenching missive for what must be the twelfth time. Each time he read it he was filled with profound joy and riddled with overwhelming guilt.

  Dearest Ethan,

  I cannot bear to have you leave without sharing two important truths with you. I confess that I am taking the coward’s way out by writing this letter, but as we seem unable to be in the same room together without insulting one another, I choose the coward’s way. Please understand that I would much rather be telling you in person, as the words suddenly seem much, much more permanent in ink.

  I realize my disposition of late has likely been very trying for you. I cannot and will not excuse myself for that, but can only offer an explanation. I find myself afflicted with a common condition most young wives face. It is my great joy to tell you that we are expecting a child, Grif. I hope you find this happy news as exhilarating as I.

  The second truth, one I should have shared with you sooner, is that I am very much in love with you. I think I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, yet until now I’ve allowed my foolish pride to get in the way of telling you. But I want to tell you. I need to tell you I love you, Ethan, and I would have married you if you were a pauper or a prince. In all that has happened between us, my biggest regret is that I have waited so long to tell you.

  I love you. Please take care on your journey. Come home to me safely.

  Yours always,

  Kay

  Grif gently laid the letter down and smoothed its ruffled edges, quashing the urge to leave his dingy hole of a hotel so that he could collect his wife. Kyra loved him. They were going to have a child. The thought of Kyra writing those words, I love you, brought on a renewed sense of urgency. It made him restless. He was going to be with his wife, and nothing was going to stop him. Not Edmund, not Brumley’s death and certainly not a little rat like Andrew Dreyfus.

  Grif drummed his fingers on the small table he used as his desk. This was a time for clear thinking, he reflected. Running off while his head was spinning would be folly. He was alive because he was able to think clearly in the midst of chaos. It had kept him from dying at the hands of the French overseas and it had kept him from being caught and hanged by the Waterguard at home.

  The Edmund situation was well in hand, though he still needed a plan for dealing with Dreyfus. Conroy had hied off to the coast of Sussex to learn more about the smuggling ring there. That might give him the answers he needed, though if not, what then?

  He also needed to figure out what to do about Brumley’s death. Grif was certain that his uncle was behind the man’s murder, but as he had no evidence he could hardly present that theory to the Watch. Especially since he was still a wanted man.

  The final problem, naturally, was what to do about Kay. There was not a single thing he could think to say to his wife that might mend the damage he’d unwittingly done. He was stuck and she was leaving.

  She was leaving him.

  Grif took a deep breath to steady his overwrought nerves. A soft rap at the door drew him from his brooding. Thomas let himself in, his blond mane shaggier than usual and an incipient beard shadowing his cheeks. By the grim look on his face, Grif knew his friend had little new to tell him.

  “You look like hell,” Grif said by way of greeting.

  “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Thomas bit back sullenly, flopping into a chair and sending dust motes dancing in the air. “You don’t look too pretty yourself.”

  At Grif’s raised brow Thomas nodded grimly. “Which bad news do you want first?”

  “Surprise me,” Grif said.

  “Maggie confirmed that Kay is leaving in less than a week, on a ship called the Lucretia. She’s using her family’s former man of business, Snobrick, to make arrangements.”

  “Snobrick Junior,” Grif corrected. “The senior Snobrick passed away a few months ago.”

  “Whatever,” Thomas said impatiently. “I also got word from Conroy. He confirmed that Dreyfus is running the Sussex band and has been pulling in some risky shipments in the last months. From the sounds of it, he’s been bilking Edmund the way Edmund bilked us.”

  “Taking side payments without telling Edmund?” Grif asked.

  “Yes.” Thomas nodded. “And he’s underpaying his men. It’s caused discontent in the group, which has led to some of them talking to the Waterguard. It’s only a matter of time before he’s caught. I assume that’s why Edmund wants him gone. If the Waterguard catch him, he’ll rat Edmund out in a heartbeat. Even if the charges didn’t stand, Edmund’s name would be tarnished by association.”

  “So Edmund has a loose cannon in Dreyfus and thought to get out of the smuggling business,” Grif said slowly. “He’s made a tidy little fortune from it according to the ledger, and he’s still one step ahead of the Waterguard. If he eliminates Dreyfus—and me for that matter—there’s no direct connection between him and the smugglers.”

  “So he set Dreyfus up with us, hoping we’d take care of him in Scotland, and threw Kyra and Brumley at you.” Thomas chewed his lip. “Interesting tidbit I heard, by the by,” he said, thoughtfully. “Conroy mentioned that Dreyfus sometimes brings one of his smugglers, a man called Jack Smalls, into town to take care of business.”

  “What kind of business?” Grif asked.

  “Smalls handles the band’s dirty work,” Thomas said slowly. “He’s known as Smashing Smalls.”

  “Please tell me Smalls and Dreyfus were in London at the time of Brumley’s death,” Grif said softly. At Thomas’s nod, Grif pushed to his feet. “I think things are finally coming together. We find Smalls and we find Brumley’s killer.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I haven’t told you the really bad news yet.” He waited until Grif sat back down before he spoke. “I got word from our inside man at Edmund’s.”

  Grif’s blood turned cold. “Emmers contacted you?”

  Thomas nodded. “Edmund suspects Kay pinched his ledger.”

  “Did Emmers say why?” Grif asked through clenched teeth.

  “Edmund interrogated the staff, and no one but Kyra has visited recently. The senior valet, Mellon,
even whipped Emmers when he found out the ledger was gone. The boy denied knowing anything, or so he says, but I think Edmund might go after Kay.”

  Grif cursed.

  Thomas nodded. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid,” he said. “Edmund knows Kay is leaving. Apparently she told him her plans the day she took the book.”

  “And?” Grif asked impatiently.

  “And Smalls isn’t in Sussex anymore.”

  At Grif’s look, Thomas nodded. “I think Edmund and Dreyfus may help Kay disappear permanently,” Thomas said.

  Grif cursed again. “Where’s Dreyfus?”

  Thomas shrugged. “He hasn’t been out and about for over a week now. I suspect he’s watching Kay, waiting for the right moment. He knows Kay having the ledger is just as bad for him as it is for Edmund.”

  “What about my wife?” Grif asked. “Please tell me the damnable woman is staying out of public.”

  “She hasn’t been out for the better part of the week,” Thomas said. “Which is probably why she’s still alive. Maggie told me she only leaves the house anymore to visit her solicitor. She’s to meet with him once more to sign the remaining papers.”

  “Snobrick,” Grif said.

  “Junior,” Thomas corrected.

  “When?” Grif asked.

  Thomas shook his head. “Maggie didn’t know, just that Junior is to send word to Kay when everything is ready. It sounds like the man refuses to meet with Kyra publicly for fear of scandalizing his other clients, so I’m guessing it will be an evening when polite society is otherwise engaged.”

  “And what is the next highlight of the Season?” Grif mused, wishing he could visit the junior Snobrick to rend the cowardly solicitor limb from limb.

  “Lady Dunn is hosting a dinner party tomorrow night,” Thomas said, mentally scanning the invitations he had received. “And the Dixons have a musicale the next evening, though I doubt that will be heavily attended.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The duchess of Cosway is hosting a gala three nights’ hence,” he murmured.

  Grif nodded. “That’ll be the one,” he said, a plan formulating in his mind. Sitting down to write several missives, he quickly sketched out his idea for his friend. After hashing out the details, he stopped writing to look up at Thomas. “I need you to watch Kay, and send word immediately if she leaves the house.”

  “Of course,” Thomas said grimly. “Conroy should be back by tomorrow night, so we’ll have a little extra muscle if we need.” He shook his head. “I still don’t like this, Grif. It’s too risky.”

  Grif nodded. “I see no other way, Thomas.” He looked his friend directly in the eye. “You know that if this goes awry, your first duty is to protect Kay. It’s always Kay,” he said adamantly.

  Thomas chewed his lip, but nodded. After a moment, he said, “But let’s not let it get to that, Grif.”

  “Fine by me,” Grif said, scribbling frantically. “I find I have a lot to live for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The unmarked coach clattered down a narrow lane of Covent Garden and stopped at a building several solicitors shared for offices, stopping briefly to let its lone passenger alight onto the cobblestone walkway outside a building marked Jensen and Company. The small figure waved to the coachman as he attempted to climb down. The man returned to his seat to wait while the figure crossed the street.

  Kyra took a step into the dimly lit courtyard, allowing her eyes to adjust to darkness for a moment before she dared go any farther. A figure emerged from the recesses. Snobrick Jr. was already waiting for her, his smile uneasy in the dim light.

  “Good evening,” he said, bowing awkwardly. “I trust you’re well this evening?”

  Kyra ignored his attempts at civility. He had dragged her out to this godforsaken place at this godforsaken hour; he could suffer a little displeasure from her. “Everything is ready for my departure?” she asked impatiently.

  “Indeed, Countess,” he said, puffing himself up a bit. “I just require your signature on a few documents and our business will be finished.”

  “Fine,” Kyra said icily. She scanned the documents he presented, her heart sinking just a little at the thought of leaving her beloved, insolent servants to her husband’s care. Grif would be good to them, she knew, but it was difficult to think of leaving them forever.

  After she finished scrawling her name on every last piece of foolscap, she handed everything over to Junior, without bothering to look at him. “If we’re finished here, Mr. Snobrick,” she began, “I’ll take my leave. I assume as you picked our unusual meeting spot, you’ll be perfectly capable to see yourself home.”

  Snobrick gave a funny little start. “Apologies, Countess, but I must have misheard you.” At her raised brow, the rotund man shook his head. “If memory serves, it was you who sent a note directing me to this location.”

  Kyra looked at him to see whether or not he was joking. When she realized he wasn’t, her heart skipped a beat. “Until tonight I was completely ignorant of this location. In fact, when I received your note stating we would meet here, I had to verify the address with my groom.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, an awful understanding blossoming between them. “I suggest we make haste, Mr. Snobrick,” Kyra said, breaking the silence. The portly man nodded and moved ahead of her toward the entrance of the yard. Kyra nearly crashed into the foolish man as he stopped abruptly and took a step backward.

  Peeking around his shoulder, only to wish she hadn’t done so, she saw the reason for his cowardice. That smarmy man—Dreyfus, if she remembered correctly—who had accompanied her return from Scotland was pointing something at Mr. Snobrick. She couldn’t be sure, but she guessed it was a pistol. Behind him a large man loomed, grinning with a look that rather sent a shiver down Kyra’s spine.

  Kyra allowed a small curse to escape her lips. Why do things always have to be so bloody complicated? she wondered. She allowed herself a moment of hope that the solicitor in front of her was made of more heroic stuff than he appeared, though one look at the trembling Snobrick and she decided it was best to take matters into her own hands.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, stepping out from behind Junior. “We didn’t realize this courtyard was already occupied. If you will excuse us,” she said lightly, as though to breeze past Dreyfus and his gun.

  Dreyfus laughed. “You certainly are never short of confidence, Lady Griffin,” the man said, his aristocratic accent an odd juxtaposition to the situation. “You should’ve seen this little girl in Scotland, Smalls,” he said to the large man behind him. “Obstinate and cheeky are never attractive qualities for a lady, my dear.”

  “As unctuous and dim-witted are for men, Mr. Dreyfus,” Kyra returned tightly. “To what do we owe this unexpected visit?”

  Dreyfus tsked at her. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you. We’re here to get it back.”

  Kyra shrugged a shoulder, doing her best to look guileless. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Dreyfus?”

  Dreyfus snorted. “Ashford’s ledger. Give over.”

  “Edmund’s lost his ledger?” Kyra asked in surprise. “How careless of him.”

  “We don’t have time for your nonsense, Countess,” Dreyfus said. He gestured to the man behind him. “I don’t think you’ve met my acquaintance, Mr. Smalls...more commonly known as Smashing Smalls. Do you wonder why he’s known as Smashing Smalls, Lady Kyra?”

  Kyra eyed the huge, balding man who’d taken a few steps closer to her. His wide nose was crooked and swollen-looking, obviously the victim of several breaks. He had an ugly scar running the length of his right cheek, and one ear looked to be almost completely missing. Dreyfus was a poseur; Smalls, however, looked to be the real deal.

  Mustering as much bravado as she could, she asked cheekily, “I don’t
suppose it’s because of his dashing good looks?”

  Smalls chuckled then raised a pistol. Kyra’s stomach lurched at the sound of gunfire. Her head pounded with the sound and a noxious smoke burned her nose. Behind her, Mr. Snobrick fell to the ground.

  Kyra’s heart raced as she sank to her knees and called her solicitor’s name as she leaned over him. Junior wasn’t moving. By the glaze of his eyes, she knew he was already gone. Her mind reeled as she stared down at the dead man. Her stomach clenched at the pool of blood seeping out from his massive form. She wanted to cry. Thoughts of her unborn child raced through her head, nearly choking her with desperation. She needed to stay alive for her child’s sake. She needed to think, to come up with a plan. Unfortunately, she couldn’t seem to think past her fear.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of something, someone, in the darkness just beyond her vision. Grif is here. It had to be Grif. Understanding and relief came crashing into place. Grif had directed her to meet Junior here, knowing Dreyfus would follow her—which meant he must have a plan. Grif always had a plan.

  She schooled herself to a calm she was nowhere near feeling, determined to make it out of this. She needed to take control of this situation. If she could just buy a few minutes, Grif would take over and everything would be all right.

  Unless, of course, it wasn’t Grif in the shadows.

  Swallowing a huge lump in her throat, she grabbed her paperwork from Snobrick’s hand and managed to stand up, though she wondered how long her legs might hold her.

  “That was unnecessary,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

  Both men appeared taken aback by her apparent indifference to the man at her feet. She pretended to brush blood from the papers in her hand, secretly trying to keep her stomach down.

  “She’s a frosty bit of work, ain’t she?” Smalls said in amazement. “Most ladies would be screaming and fainting by now.”

  Kyra raised an eyebrow at him then glared at Dreyfus.