Tempting Fate

by Kerrigan Byrne

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Kerrigan Byrne

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Felicity Goode made certain she was alone in the hallway before she pressed her ear to the door.

  It wasn’t like her to eavesdrop.

  But lately, she’d been doing all sorts of things out of the ordinary.

  Today, her inquiry was one of a personal nature, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d identified two masculine murmurs on the other side.

  What she had to say needed no audience.

  Before she could ascertain a single thing, the cool surface of the door fell away from her heated cheek.

  It shouldn’t have shocked her to find her brother-in-law Dr. Titus Conleith gripping the handle.

  It was his office after all.

  And yet, here she was, flustered to the point of speechlessness at the sight of his classically handsome features, arranged into a bemused expression.

  “Felicity?” His brilliant whisky eyes flicked over her as if cataloguing a rudimentary clinical assessment. To her absolute discomfiture, the perplexed wrinkle beneath the chocolate forelock over his forehead deepened to a frown line. “Were you listening at the door?”

  “I wasn’t— that is— I’m not— you see, what transpired was—” A gather of guilt and nerves blocked her throat, forcing her to make an unladylike noise before she could speak in complete sentences. “I simply didn’t want to disturb you if you were in a— private consultation.” She peeked over his wide shoulder into his stately office.

  He motioned inside as if gesturing to another. “Actually, I was consulting with—” Turning, he paused, scanning the length of his lair surreptitiously before his eyes narrowed. “With… myself, evidently.”

  “I see,” Felicity nodded. Genius often coexisted with eccentricity, and Dr. Conleith was famously the most brilliant surgeon in the realm. No doubt he had to verbally manifest some of what resided in his brain into the world to organize it into coherence.

  They stood in awkward silence, each obviously searching for the next thing to say.

  As a little girl, Felicity had fancied herself in love with Titus Conleith.

  He’d been a handsome, strapping stable boy at her father’s estate, with a wide smile and wider shoulders. It wasn’t only his gentle way with her painful shyness, or their shared love of esoteric and scientific literature that put her at ease.

  It was that he never treated her like a moth in a family of butterflies.

  Even though that was the reality of her life.

  Her eldest sister, Honoria— whom they fondly called Nora— was the uncontested beauty of the Goode sisters. Then came Prudence, adventurous and lovely as she was lively, not to mention Felicity’s own mischievous and magnificent twin Mercy, who was brilliant and bold and always wont to create loud— if entertaining— calamity.

  More often than not, Felicity might as well be part of the furniture.

  Titus had a knack for making people feel seen.

  Alas, his heart had always belonged to Nora.

  After consulting several romance novels on the subject of love and passion, Felicity came to the easy conclusion that her tender feelings for the man were more appreciative and filial than amorous.

  Considering he was now her brother-in-law, it all worked out for the best. Still, though, she couldn’t help but be tongue-tied in his presence.

  Or anyone’s presence, really.

  Unlike the rest of the Goode girls, she was terrible at interaction.

  “Was there something you needed?” Titus prompted gently, belying a curious tension whitening the hand holding the doorknob.

  Taking in a deep breath, she nudged her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and smoothed at the waist of her pale blue bodice. “Might I… impose upon you for a moment?” She gestured expectantly at his office.

  Fine lines branched from his eyes as he pasted on a smile too grand for the occasion. “No imposition at all. Do accompany me as I go to—”

  “I’d rather speak in private,” she said. “i-in your office, more specifically.”

  Why hadn’t he invited her in? It wasn’t at all like him not to be gracious to the point of indulgent.

  He checked over his shoulder once more, as if hesitant, then slowly pulled the door wider, allowing her entry.

  The undoubtedly masculine room might as well have been another world from the sterile atmosphere of the Alcott Surgical Specialty Hospital, over which he resided as chief of surgery. As fastidious as the man was with his medical implements, his paperwork was hopelessly disorganized. Strewn about in alarming disarray until one could only guess what his desk looked like.

  The scent changed as she passed the threshold, no longer sharp and sanitized, but soft and familiar. Comforting. Perhaps it was just the old books lining the many shelves, or the decorative and fragrant sachets of lavender she’d harvested herself from the glasshouse at Cresthaven Place. She’d had the idea to hang the sachets from the bronze velvet drapery cords.

  This office was used to convey terrible diagnoses, the news of the death of a loved one, or possibly distressing information regarding procedures Titus was about to perform.

  While volunteering at the hospital, Felicity had become convinced that the room should not only appear calming and friendly, but it should smell that way, as well.

  Something else hung in the air today, though. Something sharper than the camphor-like scent of lavender. A watchful expectancy, perhaps. It seemed as if the motes of dust moved with more frenetic energy than the two of them warranted.

  As if… the stillness contained some magnitude she identified but was unable to understand.

  She felt suddenly exposed. Gooseflesh erupted everywhere, washing her spine in chills and tightening her nipples.

  Glancing at Titus, she quickly ascertained the odd atmosphere wasn’t at all emanating from him.

  Then… what? The question certainly couldn’t be whom, because they were alone.

  So why did she feel the very devil’s hot breath on her neck?

  Rather than taking his post behind the desk, Titus leaned his hip against the edge as he gestured for her to sit in one of the comfortable velvet chairs facing him.

  She declined with a tight shake of her head. “This shouldn’t take long. I only have one question to ask of you.”

  Dark eyebrows drew down in an expression of concern. “Is this a question of a medical nature?”

  “No—” She paused. “Well, yes, actually. Maybe… sort of?”

  Once again, she was struck by how tense Titus seemed as his gaze skipped around the office rather than landing on her. “A sensitive medical nature?” he asked uneasily.

  “Well, I came by to visit someone— a patient— but I’m unable to find him.”

  At that, Titus visibly relaxed. “To whom are you referring?”

  Suddenly she felt rather itchy, and dug a finger into the tight coiffure beneath her hat to scratch at her scalp. “Um— please don’t think me too inappropriate— but I thought to sit a while with…” The name was difficult to say. It wasn’t the pronunciation she struggled with so much as the man who bore the name. He made her tongue feel heavy and unwieldy. “With Mr. Gabriel Sauvageau. I owe him my gratitude�
�� or rather, I owe him my life. I understand he was injured during the violent chaos of the Midnight Masquerade at Killgore Keep whilst carrying me out of the fire. I was told he came here to seek treatment. I know it’s been several days, and I should have come to call upon him earlier but…”

  Felicity looked down at the carpet and did her best to rein in her galloping heartbeats. To control the breaths that threatened to become impossible as a vise tightened around her rib cage. She’d been concussed after a strike from a villain had felled her on the grand staircase, but the real reason she couldn’t visit was because the world beyond her front doors had been too much to bear.

  But she’d scraped her courage together today. And she’d been doing so well thus far. Could she not stave off the episode of terror just a while longer? Just until she discharged her duty and her conscience and thanked the man who saved her life.

  A long, heavy sigh emptied Titus’s lungs.

  “Felicity.” His eyes flicked down to the carpet, his expression troubled. “I’m sorry to tell you this but… Gabriel Sauvageau was shot by the villain Martin Trout. I… was unable to retrieve the bullet from his wound.”

  That bit of new information not only slowed her heart but stalled it completely. She’d met Mr. Sauvageau all but twice, and somehow felt as if the news of his demise was a violent blow to the chest.

  “What?” she gasped. “That can’t be. I was there when it happened! I— I distinctly remember watching Mr. Sauvageau walk away as if his injuries were not so serious… Did I not?”

  Had she hallucinated?

  After the murder of Mathilde Archambeau, a woman who’d come to her for help, Felicity had consented to join her sister Mercy at a Midnight Masquerade attended by London’s elite. Not only were peers in attendance eager to debauch themselves, but so were the wealthy merchant class and the darlings of the demimonde. Actresses, authors, and academics mingled with marquesses, madams, and merry widows of the haute ton.

  That night, among revelers had also been the royalty of the underworld.

  The most notorious of whom were the Sauvageau brothers, Raphael and Gabriel, leaders of the smuggling gang who identified themselves as the Fauves.

  Raphael was the suave and carnally handsome rake, and his elder brother, Gabriel, was a leviathan of a man who’d been so thoroughly disfigured he wore a mask in public.

  When he went into public, which was almost never.

  Apparently the Sauvageau brothers had been planning to leave behind their lives of crime, and because of it, their second in command, Marco Villanueve, had quite violently turned on them.

  In the resulting fracas, Marco had mistaken Felicity for her twin and had taken her hostage to use her against Raphael, who’d fallen in love with Mercy.

  “I… remember the gunshot,” she breathed, walking through the terror of the moment in her mind. “Mr. Sauvageau did stumble and fall beneath the press of the panicking mob. But then he swept down the stairs and grappled with my captor, who sliced through his mask. I know I fainted after that… but there were moments of semiconsciousness where I remember being carried by Mr. Sauvageau through the burning building and out to the canal. I hear his voice in distant memory. I see his— his face.” She broke off, struggling over a difficult swallow.

  “Surely he could not have carried me so far if he’d been fatally wounded.”

  His face. His face had been the most terrible memory of all.

  The poor man had no nose, no hair, an eye socket so damaged it barely deserved the term, and so many slices and scars on his face, it made speaking visibly difficult.

  The sight had been horrific.

  Heart-wrenching.

  And cumulated with all of the horrors of the night, it’d been what brought on the infernal episode that’d overtaken her, and pulled her back beneath consciousness.

  God, she was so ashamed of herself.

  “Have I gone mad?” she whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Did I imagine things?”

  “You remember correctly,” Titus said gently. “Mr. Sauvageau did indeed conduct you to safety. But people are capable of doing remarkable things in remarkable situations. Things that even seem inhuman or extraordinary. More often than not, pushing oneself like that when injured… it takes its toll.”

  Felicity covered her mouth. “Titus. Do you… do you think he might have survived if he hadn’t expended the effort to save me?”

  Titus bucked his hip away from the desk and settled two careful hands on her shoulders. “Dear Felicity…” He seemed to choose his words carefully. “Things would not have ended any differently for Gabriel Sauvageau regardless of the circumstances. It’s commendable what he did for you. I— I know he doesn’t— he wouldn’t— regret it.”

  Troubled, Felicity bit her cuticle. “Do you know where he’s buried? At the very least I could pay my respects. Or make certain his headstone is properly done. Or perhaps plant something there in his memory.”

  “I don’t. I could make inquiries.”

  “I’d appreciate that very much,” she said woodenly. “I’ll let you return to your business.”

  “Nora will come around for tea any moment, if you’d like to stay. She’d love to visit with you.” Titus gathered up his white coat and punched his arms into the sleeves, indicating that he was going to the surgical theater.

  “Yes, I’ll— I’ll go upstairs and wait, with your permission.”

  Titus and Nora Conleith resided in a lush penthouse above the hospital. Their home was one of Felicity’s favorite places in all the world.

  “You know our home is always open to you.” Titus’s face softened as he gave her shoulders a fond squeeze before releasing them. “It can’t be easy, what with Mercy absconding with Raphael to the devil knows where, and your parents indefinitely retreating to the Riviera.”

  At this, Felicity gasped. “Oh Lord. Does Raphael know about his brother?”

  Titus’s lips tightened. “He and Mercy do know what became of him, yes.”

  “Poor man must be heartbroken. I understand they were close.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I’ll write him my condolences when Mercy sends me a postcard from whatever port they next find themselves.”

  “That would be kind of you.”

  “Well…” Felicity’s restless hands adjusted her spectacles, plucked at her collar, at the cuffs of her sleeves, at the watch dangling from a broach over her breast. “Good afternoon, Titus.”

  “Always a pleasure.” He lifted her hand to kiss it.

  The news of Gabriel Sauvageau’s demise felt like a tragic end to an even more unfortunate life. He’d been so strong, so utterly large and impenetrable that it was almost impossible to imagine something so small as a bullet taking him down.

  Though he’d been a smuggler and a criminal, even a man she’d once seen as a threat, he’d ultimately been her savior. After her assault, he’d held her like a child might cradle a porcelain doll.

  One they were afraid of breaking.

  He’d crooned gentle things into her ear in his native French, soothing her. He’d been frightening. He’d been criminal.

  But… Someone had hurt him so abominably.

  Someone had done all that terrifying damage to his face.

  Felicity didn’t allow her tear to fall until she’d turned away. Dashing it from her eye with her gloved hand, she fumbled with the door latch and slid back into the hospital’s hallway.

  Gabriel Sauvageau may have looked like a monster, but he’d always be a hero to her.

  * * *

  Titus’s reverent words found Gabriel where he’d ensconced himself behind the gently scented drapes. “I’m not a religious man… However, I can’t help but believe you were meant to hear that.”

  Pushing the heavy velvet aside, Gabriel ventured back into the office, pathetically aware that he displaced the air Felicity Goode had only just occupied.

  He took in lungsful of it, hoping to lock it away. Imagining that so
mehow, she’d become a part of him.

  His heart felt two sizes too big for his chest, and it hurled itself against his rib cage as if seeking to escape and go after her.

  All because he’d chanced a bold peek at her as she’d turned to leave.

  And he’d watched a tear form like a gem on her fair lashes and slide down the perfection of her cheekbone.

  For him.

  Her grief, however slight, was both a waste and a miracle. It humbled and distressed him. And for her own sake, he could do nothing to assuage it.

  He must stay dead to her, or all his plans would be for naught.

  No one knew that everything he’d done since they’d met was for her…

  Gabriel Sauvageau had been born to a ruthless, evil gangster. As much as he’d hated his father, known as the Executioner, he’d been in danger of becoming him.

  He was the heir to the Fauve dynasty. Fauves meaning “wild beasts” in the language of his homeland of Monaco. His father, however, had been an exile from England.

  Gabriel had been content to watch the empire that’d spawned his father burn to the ground with his help. He’d wanted to disassemble the city brick by brick, then light the spark that immolated everything.

  Including the Fauves.

  He’d been close to achieving his goal, too, until several months ago when the Goode sisters had found a cache of gold that’d been stolen from him.

  He and Raphael had meant to take the gold back, but Mercy and Felicity Goode had proven themselves the better thieves.

  Because they’d stolen the Sauvageau brothers’ beating black hearts right out of their chests.

  That night, Honoria Goode, Dr. Conlieth’s bride, had been intent upon redemption.

  Mercy Goode, the woman Raphael had recently eloped with, had been intent upon justice.

  But Felicity, she’d only cared about those she loved.