Brazen and the Beast EPB

by MacLean, Sarah

  Like his queen. Because he would be by her side. He would be at her back, keeping the wind at bay. And perhaps, in time, there would be children, too, learning to climb on their mother’s boats and playing hide-and-seek in their father’s warehouse—little girls with violet eyes, shouting down at him from the rigging, and boys with bright smiles and a taste for raspberry sweets and lemon ice.

  He reached for her, pulling her to him, loving the way she came without hesitation, even now, even as she denied him the thing he wanted most in the world. “Take it then. All of it. I give it, freely. Everything you want.”

  Her eyes found his, the lantern light making them glitter. “I want love. And you cannot both love me and keep me locked away, precious and protected from the world. You cannot keep me safe and let me stand by your side.”

  The words froze him. How many times had he told himself that he could save the world if only he did not love it? He couldn’t have another weakness. Not one that racked him with fear that he might one day not be able to protect her.

  She was already enough of a weakness.

  She’d already laid him low.

  If he loved her—he’d never be free of his need for her.

  Too late.

  She shook her head and pulled away, out of his embrace. “I don’t want any of it in half measures. Not the business, not the fortune, not the future. And certainly not you.”

  She stepped away, out of reach, wrapping her arms about her, and Whit’s heart began to pound, his mind resisting the movement, self-loathing filling him to his core. She was protecting herself.

  From him.

  And he wanted to scream at the realization. He wanted to scream, and go to her, and take her in his arms and promise her everything she wanted. The whole life. Himself included. He would love her.

  And they would face the world—Ewan—all of it—together.

  Perfectly matched.

  And in the realization—something else.

  He moved toward her, marveling at her strength, at the way she held her ground, his brave, brazen beauty. He could see so much in her eyes. Doubt, yes, and concern, no doubt out of fear that he’d been an ass before, and what was to stop him now? But there was something more there. Something that lit when he moved toward her. Something that he recognized, because he felt it so keenly himself.

  Hope.

  But before he could give voice to it, before he could make his case, before he could beg her to give him a chance, before he could tell her he could learn, before he could tempt her with all the things she’d wanted . . . all the things he wanted . . .

  An explosion cut through the night, setting the docks ablaze.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hattie watched him come for her, slow and deliberate, his eyes clear and a smile teasing at his lips, dreading his wonderful touch, his soft words, the promises she knew would tempt her to believe that he might be able to give her everything she asked. She steeled herself for whatever he was about to say, knowing that it would be impossible to resist him—this man she had come to love beyond reason—knowing he was about to touch her with soft strokes and warm kisses, and worrying she would not be able to bear it even as she wanted it badly.

  But he didn’t touch her as she expected. Instead, when the thunderous explosion rocked the docks, he flew toward her, his eyes filled with terror, knocking her down, rolling her mid-air, collecting her in his arms, and bearing the brunt of impact as they slid across the deck and into the side wall of the ship.

  When they came to a stop, Hattie was immediately turning to face him. “Are you—”

  His hands were everywhere, sliding over her arms and her torso, “You’re not hurt?”

  “No.” She shook her head, her own hand against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath her touch. “You shouldn’t have done that. You’ll have wicked splinters from the deck.”

  “You think I give a shit about splinters when you might have been—” He reached for her, pulling her closer, squeezing her tightly. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “What’s happened?” She pulled away and looked up to the sky, where sparks floated into the night. Shouts rang out from down the dock. “Something’s been attacked.”

  “Stay here.” He moved across the deck like lightning, fetching his holster and strapping it on before turning to investigate. He assessed the situation in seconds. “The shipment.”

  Cold dread settled. “My brother?”

  He did not meet her eyes. “No. Mine.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Ewan.”

  He came for her, reaching down to catch her hand and help her up. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Absolutely not.” Shock flared. “I’m going to help.”

  “No.” He grasped her hand and pulled her to the gangway, and down the slip to solid ground, where men were already pouring into the docks to stem the fire. “If he’s here, you’re in danger.”

  Hattie looked toward the ship burning in the berth. “How many men?”

  He wasn’t paying attention, too focused on the crowd amassing nearby. “What?”

  “How many men were on the ship?”

  He turned to her, met her gaze. “I don’t know.” He grabbed a boy running by, nearly lifting him from his feet. “Brixton.”

  “Beast! Yer a’right!” The boy’s eyes went wide. “Sarita said she saw you comin’ down ’ere, but ye didn’t leave.”

  “I’m all right, bruv,” he said, and Hattie saw the relief in the boy’s eyes. Understood it. She would have come running for him, too. “Get gone. ’S not safe here.”

  “No, boss.” Brixton looked to the boats and lifted his chin. “I’m goin’ to help.”

  “Who’s on the watch?”

  “It’s ten o’clock, Beast,” the boy said, and she heard the fear in his voice. “Yeah?”

  Whit stiffened, and she saw the hesitation in his frame. Saw him resist something primal. “Yeah. Get in there. But if anything seems wrong, you get out.”

  The boy smiled, reckless and far too young. “Anyfin’ like a Derry and Tom?”

  Whit cuffed the boy on the chin at the Cockney slang for bomb. “Yeah. Like a Derry and Tom.”

  He released the boy and turned for Hattie, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the crowd. “Come.”

  Away from the fire.

  “What? Why?” He didn’t respond, pulling her into a narrow passageway leading up between a tavern and a sail shop. She tugged at her hand, but his grip only grew tighter. “Where are you taking me? What does ten o’clock mean?”

  He didn’t slow. “On nights when we’re not moving cargo, the guard changes at ten.”

  Understanding, quick and painful. “Double the number of men at the ship.”

  He grunted.

  “Oh, my God, Whit. I did this. I locked up the hooks. If I hadn’t, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  He didn’t turn back. “Or we’d have two dozen dead men down there instead of whatever we have.”

  She stopped, digging her heels into the cobblestones. “We have to go back.”

  “No.” Unequivocal.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I am responsible for whatever happened there tonight. I shall help. I can help.”

  He cursed under his breath and looked up at the sky. “You’re not going back there. There’s been an explosion large enough to decimate a hauler, I’ve got a hold full of ice and contraband aflame and Ewan has already said he’s willing to hurt you to get to me.”

  “He shan’t hurt me with half the docks watching!” she said. “Let me make it right!”

  “These are not your sins, Hattie,” he said. “You’re going home.”

  “Of course they’re not my sins!” she shouted. “You think I don’t know that? But this is my world, too! This is my turf, too! If you are worried, I am worried. If you are there, I am there. And let Ewan come. We shall face him together. Together.”

  He turned away from her, raising
a hand to flag down a hack. “We will do no such thing. I don’t want you near him. He’ll come for you to punish me. And I can’t have that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I took the only thing he ever cared about from him.”

  “What? What could possibly be more valuable than his brothers?” She thought back to the docks. “Than the lives of the men and women who work for them?”

  “Not what. Who.”

  Understanding came swift and certain. “Grace.”

  “Clever girl,” he said softly.

  The hack pulled to a stop nearby, its horses huffing in the night. The driver looked to the orange light flickering over the rooftops, then to the knives strapped to Whit’s chest, nervously. “All right, milord?”

  “Better when you get her far from here,” Whit growled as he pulled the door open.

  “No,” she said, fury raging. “I am not leaving you here to face an inferno and a madman and whatever else is down there.”

  He met her eyes, a small smile on his lips. “You plan to fight my battles for me, love?”

  She shook her head. “Never for you. Alongside you.”

  He smiled, sad. “Ever my warrior.”

  He wasn’t going to let her. He was going to put her into this carriage and be off to a fight that could leave him destroyed. Worse. “Don’t do this. Believe in me.”

  Believe in us.

  “You don’t have to protect me.”

  The words seemed to unlock him, filling him with determination. Lengthening him. Broadening him. Steeling him. “I do, though. It’s all I must do. You’ve asked me why I carry two watches,” he said, quick and stern, as though he was giving her directions to an impossibly difficult location. And perhaps he was. “I am never late. I am never late, because I was too late to save my mother. She was dead when I arrived, of whatever plague had ripped through the rooming house that week. Dead and alone. And I couldn’t protect her.”

  “Oh, no . . .” Hattie said softly, reaching for him, her fingertips brushing the leather straps of the holster that caged him. The weapons he kept close.

  “But I can protect you,” he went on. “I can protect you forever. I can keep you away from my brother. And I can keep you away from all of this.”

  “This is part of it!” she said. “It’s part of the world I wish. Part of the life I wish. With you.” She shook her head. “Don’t you see? I’d rather have a night with you than a lifetime without you.”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll never see you into danger.”

  Tears sprang, frustrated and angry. “You don’t get to decide. I do.”

  “Goddammit, this isn’t the Year of Hattie anymore, this is your life! This is my sanity!” He closed his eyes. “Please. Get in the fucking hack. Now.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Make me.”

  And he did, the wretched man, lifting her from her feet like she was a sack of grain and tossing her into the conveyance. Making sure she was unbalanced enough that she wouldn’t be able to stop him from closing the door.

  She heard the thump of his fist on the side of the hack, barely sounded before the wheels were in motion. Outrage and fury flared as Hattie sat up, looking out the window, barely able to make out the shape of him, running back to the docks. Back to danger.

  She banged on the roof of the hack. “Stop this carriage right now!”

  “Can’t help!” came the muffled reply from the driver. “The man gave me a quid to take you to Mayfair!”

  “A quid to abduct me, you mean!”

  “If I was abductin’ you, lady, I wouldn’t be takin’ ye to Berkeley Square!”

  She didn’t even live in Berkeley Square, but that was a moot point. “I’ll pay you to stop!”

  Hesitation. “Seems like whatever was going on at the docks wasn’t for you, luv!”

  So now the hack driver had decided to find his sense of right and wrong. “Argh! Men!” Hattie pounded on the roof of the carriage. She didn’t need protection from this stranger or from the man who’d just tossed her into his carriage. Dammit, hadn’t it been Hattie who’d tossed Whit out of a carriage all those nights ago?

  “Dammit, dammit,” she screamed, moving to the door, watching the buildings sail past. She’d never felt as useless as in those moments as the carriage raced from the docks, where Whit and his men raced against water and flame.

  She belonged there. With him. Alongside him.

  Marry me. Join me.

  Had he honestly believed that if she agreed to his offer, she wouldn’t stand with him? Did he not see that being a wife meant being a partner? Being an equal? Did he not know that if he was going to share his life with her, she wanted all of it? Even this bit?

  Especially this bit.

  The carriage decelerated, and she looked out the window. They were coming up on a collection of taverns where people flooded the streets, making high speed impossible . . . now was her chance.

  The hack slowed to a crawl, and Hattie measured the curve in the street. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, closing her eyes and leaping.

  She tumbled, a heavyset black man with a wide-brimmed hat and a big beard breaking her fall with a loud “Oof!” followed by a “Christ, gel! What in hell would possess you?” And then . . . “Wait! Yer the Sedley gel. The one who bought up the hooks tonight.”

  She nodded, already righting herself and turning to return to the docks in question. “Hattie Sedley.”

  He smiled. “Bollocks of brass, goin’ in against the Bastards.”

  “Not against,” she said. “With. I simply needed to get their attention.”

  He laughed, full and deep, and said, “Beast’s lady, then?”

  “If he’d come to his senses,” she tossed over her shoulder, already leaving him, heading back to the docks, as quickly as she could.

  She wove her way in and out of the streets and alleys of the neighborhood until she landed back where she’d come from, where Whit had left her. Turning a corner, she passed through the crowd that had assembled outside a popular drinking hole on one end of the dock, tankards in hand and each man with a theory on what had happened a hundred yards away. “I heard the Bastards are fighting each other. Beast don’t like Devil’s bride.” What utter nonsense.

  “That ain’t it. I heard another group wants in on the ice business.” Hattie nearly laughed at that, as though the trade in frozen water was cutthroat enough to involve explosives.

  “Must be somefin’ to do with Sedley payin’ the dockworkers not to work tonight. Too much of a coincidence—no one local on the dock to get ’urt when a damn bomb sinks the Bastards’ cargo.”

  “Tide’s out,” came a reply. “There ain’t no sinkin’ to be done. Ice’ll just slide out the hold and melt into the river.”

  “Winter freeze’ll come early this year,” came a loud masculine guffaw.

  Hattie rolled her eyes, having no patience for the gawkers and gossipers who knew nothing but seemed to enjoy fabricating plenty. She looked to one of the quieter observers. “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “Three men taken to the Bastards’ surgeon in the Garden. Beast refused to let the dockside butcher touch ’em.”

  Of course he had. Whit would have rather cut off his own arm than let a leech with a bloody apron and a sturdy saw see to his men. Hattie increased her pace, eager to find him. She could see the ship now, lit by the flames still burning but now under better control—managed by a line of men working in unison—lifting river water by the bucketful, working to combat the fire that threatened the whole dock. The men moved quickly and with steady control, as though they’d done this precise thing a dozen times before. More.

  And they had. The landing saw its fair share of gunpowder and rifle ships—and fire. Confident in the men’s work, she pushed forward, aiming for the burning ship. For the man she loved.

  “Lady Henrietta?”

  She turned at the sound of her name as a man stepped from a doorway in the darkness, tall and fair. Re
cognition flared. He was the Duke of Marwick—recognizable to any self-respecting spinster in the ton, even unshaven and wild-eyed. Hattie did not for a moment believe that this particular duke was simply taking a late night stroll on the London docks, no matter how mad society thought him to be.

  Rage came tight in her throat and she slipped her hand into her pocket, feeling her pocketknife there, heavy and warm. “Ewan.”

  Surprise flashed in his eyes. “He told you about me.”

  “He told me he had another brother who was a monster.” She tightened her fist on her knife. “You look the part.”

  A shout came from down the dock, and she looked to it, two men racing past, unaware of the two conversing in the darkness. Returning her attention to Ewan, she said, “This is your doing.”

  “Yes.” His words were devoid of emotion.

  “And it’s not enough? Three men to the surgeon? Another shipment destroyed? Now you think to what . . . come for me?”

  “Do I?”

  “Isn’t that what you do? Threaten your brothers and their livelihoods and their future?”

  “And you are Saviour’s future?”

  The wind picked up, and Hattie’s skirts billowed out around her. Her hair came loose from its pins. “I want to be,” she said, and there was no sorrow in the words. Only fury. “I have spent a great deal of my life fighting for the things I desire—and the things I deserve. And now I fight for my future, and you threaten that, too. And for what?” She paused, watching him. “Some cheap revenge.”

  He stepped toward her, his amber eyes—at once so familiar and so foreign—flashing. “There is nothing cheap about my revenge. They took everything from me.”

  She scowled at him. “They took nothing from you. They built a kingdom from nothing—a world of good people who know your brothers’ kindness and generosity and loyalty. Loyalty of which you can only dream. And you . . .” she spat. “You have tried to strip them of it. And I won’t have it.”