“In fact, he was asked to carry the case by your informant while he was traveling.” Felix paused, and it was his turn to smile, for he felt the stirrings of victory over Ravenhurst. Everything was proceeding according to plan. Johanna would be free of suspicion before he was done. “When your men arrested him, they did not even open the trunk to determine the contents, did they? Why is that, I wonder? How could Mr. Tierney have been arrested for conspiracy to cause an explosion if no one knew what was actually in the trunk?”
The Commissioner paled, because he knew Felix was right. He also knew the evidence had been planted on Tierney, just as the mole within the CID ranks had claimed to Arden.
“That is a blatant falsehood,” Ravenhurst bluffed. “The trunk was opened at the time of Tierney’s arrest.”
“No,” Felix insisted, “it was not. The Special League is in possession of a sworn statement to the opposite. A concerned CID officer approached Arden with the information. The Home Office will not be pleased to receive this information or the statement, but I am obliged to provide both.”
Ravenhurst sneered. “Do you think you can bribe me into keeping your slattern free of prison? Is that what this is, Winchelsea?”
Felix’s fist slammed on the desk between him and the Commissioner with so much force, the blow echoed through the room. “I told you to speak of Miss McKenna with the respect she deserves. If you call her a slattern again, so help me, I will feed you your fucking teeth. Listen to me, Ravenhurst, and listen to me well because I shan’t repeat myself. When I leave here, I am going directly to the Home Secretary. I will be accompanied by the Duke of Arden, who is in possession of the statement. I will tell him everything I know. I will also tell him about your false imprisonment of Miss Johanna McKenna, who is innocent of all charges you leveled against her.”
“The Home Office was happy to see Tierney arrested,” Ravenhurst said, stubborn to the last. “Do you really think the Home Secretary will give a damn how his arrest was secured?”
“Yes, I do expect the Home Secretary will object to the violation of civil liberties and the planting of evidence upon a suspect,” he gritted. “If you do not see the wrong in what you have done, then you have no right to claim to be a man upholding the law.”
“Go ahead and fight for Tierney if you wish,” Ravenhurst said, “but there is something you are forgetting, Winchelsea. Two very big, very undeniable somethings, in fact: the dynamite and the correspondence your slattern smuggled into England. I have an informant who was willing to turn Queen’s Evidence against her. He will testify that she brought the dynamite here at her brother’s behest, and that she met with him at the Royal Aquarium to deliver the correspondence, which included a list of public targets for future bombings.”
Felix met Ravenhurst’s stare unflinchingly, for he had already known this was the man’s final trump card—the dynamite and the man Johanna had met at her brother’s orders at the Royal Aquarium. But he had a more powerful move to make. The only one, in fact, he could. He had thought long and hard about what he was about to do, and the only conclusion he reached every time was that he would do anything—whatever he must—for the woman he loved.
“I will inform the Home Secretary that I was conducting my own campaign without the knowledge of the Home Office, the Special League, and the CID,” he said. “During the course of my investigation, I contacted Johanna McKenna in New York and paid her to act as my informant. At my orders, she brought her brother’s dynamite and correspondence to England. At my orders, she met with her brother’s man at the Royal Aquarium. My staff will confirm I followed Miss McKenna to the aquarium on the day in question. I also ordered Miss McKenna to copy all the correspondence contained in the trunk prior to her turning it over.”
“You are lying,” Ravenhurst snarled, slamming his pipe down upon his desk. “You conducted no such campaign, and you know it.”
“I will be bringing to the Home Secretary the trunk in question, which has been in my possession from the moment Miss McKenna arrived in London,” he continued, unmoved by the other man’s rage. “In it, the Home Secretary will find the dynamite, untouched, along with the copies of the correspondence I asked Miss McKenna to make, written in her own hand. The Duke and Duchess of Arden are willing to testify on my and Miss McKenna’s behalf, along with the Duke of Westmorland. I feel confident the Home Secretary will see as clearly as I do that there is no evidence against Miss McKenna at all. Indeed, she has been working for the Home Office and for me, doing everything I asked of her.”
“You would go that far for an Irish whore who treads the boards for her living?” Ravenhurst asked cruelly.
“I would go to the ends of the earth to protect an innocent woman from being imprisoned for a crime she did not commit,” he corrected, standing.
And to protect the woman I love, he silently added. But he did not dare say those words aloud, for he could not give Ravenhurst any ammunition against him or Johanna.
Ravenhurst stood with such force, his chair toppled backward in a noisy clatter onto the wooden floor. “You will go to hell for this, Winchelsea,” he vowed.
Felix sketched him an ironic bow. “If I do, I will expect to see you there, Ravenhurst.”
And with that parting shot, he took his leave, his heart pounding in his chest as if he had just run a mile. Johanna’s name was going to be cleared, he vowed as he strode from the temporary CID offices. Even if it meant thrusting his into the mud.
Because he would do anything for her.
Including giving up his position in the Home Office.
Whatever it took.
Johanna stared at her reflection in the looking glass in the guest bedchamber she had been given at Lark House. Several days had passed since the explosion at Scotland Yard. She had lingered for as long as her pride would allow. But just that morning, the doctor who had been tending to her injuries had removed the bandage on her head and had proclaimed her recovered.
If only the rest of her had recovered just as well as the stitches the doctor had sewn. Fortunately, the deepest laceration she had suffered had been near her nape, and she could disguise the injury with a creative hairstyle so that it would not affect her appearance on the stage.
Ah, the stage. For so long, it had been the only home she had known. The sole joy in her life. Until for a fleeting moment, she had been given a rare glimpse of truer happiness. But that had all been a chimera, had it not?
Yes it had, a cruel jest on the part of fate.
And now, the time had come for her to return to where she belonged. She had missed far too many performances of The Tempest as it stood. Mr. Saville had been kind enough to visit her at Lark House and to reassure her the role of Miranda would still be hers when she was well enough. He had also apologized for the part he had played in bringing her to London, telling her he would have brought her to London for a tour regardless of her connections to Drummond.
She had forgiven him, for she had no choice in the matter. She was relying upon him for her wages. He had told her that when her tour ended, he would like her to star in a new play he had written. He had left behind the script for her to read, and the role was perfect for her style of acting. The play itself was brilliantly written. She tried to be thrilled, as she should be, at the prospect of taking on the role.
But for the first time in the eleven years she had been working as an actress, her heart was not in it.
Because her heart was broken. Mangled irrevocably.
The Duke of Winchelsea had ruined her in every way.
She closed her eyes, exhaling on a painful sigh that had nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with him. He had not returned to her bedside, and she had been grateful. For seeing him again would have been more than she could bear, she was sure.
Her only regret was that she would not get to see Verity again. The little girl had stolen her heart just as surely as her father had. Johanna would miss her.
A subtle knock at the chamber door
disrupted her miserable musings.
“Enter,” she called.
Hazel swept inside with a hesitant smile, carrying a missive at her side. “Johanna, you are dressed.”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing a hand over the pale pink silk of her skirts. “Thank you for arranging for my trunks to arrive here from the Duke of Winchelsea’s home.”
“Winchelsea saw to it,” Hazel said solemnly, her gaze searching.
Over the course of her stay here at Lark House, Johanna had bonded with the unusual American duchess. She liked Hazel, and she could not shake the feeling that, in another time, if the circumstances had been different, they would have been great friends.
This was the first time Hazel had mentioned Winchelsea since that awful first day.
“Perhaps you can convey my gratitude to him on my behalf,” she managed, employing all her skills as an actress to feign indifference.
To pretend as if the mere mention of Felix did not tear her apart inside.
Hazel moved closer, watching her in a contemplative fashion. “Maybe you could tell him yourself.”
“No,” she denied quickly. Too quickly, and she knew it. “I have no interest in seeing or speaking to the Duke of Winchelsea ever again.”
That was a lie.
What she wouldn’t give to see him again.
To touch him.
To kiss him.
What she wouldn’t give for everything he had told her to have been real and true.
“He is a good man,” Hazel said softly. “I do not think I am mistaken in believing you have feelings for him.”
“He killed all the feelings I once had for him with his lies and manipulations,” she said bitterly.
Another lie.
She still loved him.
She always would.
“He was in a desperate position,” Hazel told her.
“As was I,” she countered. “And he took advantage of that. He brought me here to England with the intent to use me. He pretended to care about me. He told me he loved me. He slipped past all my defenses in a way I have never allowed another.”
In the end, that was what hurt the most.
She had trusted him. Had opened her heart. And she had been a fool.
“I know Winchelsea well enough by now,” Hazel said, “and I can honestly tell you, he has feelings for you too.”
“I do not believe that,” she denied. Because she had to.
“Hold on to your anger for him if you must,” said Hazel gently, “but know that he has done everything in his power to make certain you are safe from imprisonment. I have rarely seen another man make the kind of sacrifice he has just made for you.”
Despite herself, Hazel’s words found their way around her walls. “What sacrifice are you speaking of?”
“He resigned his position with the Home Office,” Hazel revealed.
Felix had resigned? The news startled her, for he had always struck her as a man who took his responsibilities seriously. She did not think that part of him had been a deception. But still, she did not understand why Hazel would call his resignation a sacrifice made on her behalf.
“I fail to see how that is a concern of mine,” she said coolly.
“He told the Home Secretary that he had begun his own covert campaign, subverting the authority of the Home Office,” the duchess explained. “He said you were acting as his informant when you came here to England and that it was under his instruction that you smuggled the dynamite and correspondence in an effort to implicate your brother and aid the arrests of Fenians already here in London. He claimed the trunk you brought here was in his possession for the entirety of your stay in London, and that it was at his orders that you copied the contents of the packet of correspondence you had delivered at the Royal Aquarium. He surrendered the trunk over to the Home Secretary and the Special League, and then he stepped down from his post.”
Felix had lied for her.
He had shouldered the responsibility for all her actions.
But how could that be? Did she dare believe it was true? She had been manipulated and turned about in so many different directions, she scarcely knew who or what to believe at this juncture.
“How do you know all this?” she asked, her emotions suddenly at war.
Part of her wanted to believe it was true, that Felix had sacrificed himself, his position, and his honor to save her. Part of her railed that it could not be.
“My husband and the Duke of Westmorland accompanied him, and they vouched for what he said,” Hazel told her. “We all believe in your innocence, Johanna, and we want to see the true villain—your brother—brought to justice. You do not need to fear being imprisoned again. As long as you stay clear of all Fenians and your brother, Scotland Yard will not be able to touch you. Winchelsea saw to that.”
Johanna was frozen. She could not move, could not breathe. It was as if her feet had grown roots, and she would forever be planted on this precise patch of Aubusson on the floor of her Lark House guest chamber. That was how strong the shock was, washing over her. Surely if he had no feelings for her at all, he would never have gone to such lengths on her behalf.
His words to her returned, echoing through her mind, increasing the doubt. There is one thing I have never lied to you about, and that is loving you. Was that not what he had said? And what if, oh God, what if he had meant it?
What if the actions he had taken—all for her—were proof of his love?
Or a guilty mind, cautioned a voice within her.
Would a man sacrifice all out of guilt? Would Felix?
“Thank you,” she forced at last, past her numb lips. “I cannot thank you all enough for everything you have done for me. That your husband and the Duke of Westmorland would also vouch for my innocence…it is most humbling, Your Grace.”
“It is what Felix wanted,” Hazel said, “and please, do not revert to formality with me. We are friends now, you and I. I like you, Johanna. I know you are a kind woman with a good heart, and I know you will do what is right.”
“Thank you, Hazel,” she corrected herself, still in awe. She had been nothing but a burden to the Duke and Duchess of Arden, an invalid who had arrived at their door quite unexpectedly. And yet they had treated her as if she were family. “I am honored to call you friend.”
“Winchelsea asked me to give you something,” Hazel added, holding out the missive for Johanna to take. “I will give you some time in private to read it.”
Her first instinct was to refuse the elegant-looking envelope, closed with a seal. His seal, for he was a duke, and she must not forget the disparity between them.
“I do not want to read it,” she denied, doing her best to guard what was left of her heart.
“After all he did for you today, I should think accepting a letter from him a trifling matter indeed,” Hazel said, a subtle note of reproach entering her voice for the first time.
The duchess was right, of course. Regardless of his motives for doing so, Felix had made certain she would not be arrested. What harm was there in reading what he had written?
She took the envelope with a shaking hand. “I will have a look at it when I am able. I was just preparing myself to take my leave of your home when you knocked. I have been a burden upon your household for long enough, and the time has come for me to find lodging elsewhere.”
Though she had not yet decided where she would go, she knew she could not return to her former hotel. Drummond had known where she was staying, and she had no doubt his men would come looking for her there. Since Scotland Yard was already in possession of the documents she had given to Drummond’s man at the Royal Aquarium that day, they would likely have begun making arrests based on the information the documents contained. And if arrests were being made, that meant Johanna was in grave danger.
Drummond would be out for her blood.
“Do not be silly,” Hazel interrupted the grim bent of her thoughts. “You must remain here for the duration of your stay in Lo
ndon. It is safest for you, and Arden and I are happy to host you.”
The missive seemed to burn into her palm. She could not wait to read it, and yet she could not bear to. She was a study in contradictions, part of her wanting Felix with so much longing, every part of her ached, while part of her wanted to run as far and as fast from him as she could. Before he could hurt her again. Before he could lure her back to him with his knowing kisses and his comforting embraces, his way of always tending to her when she needed it most.
She hated him for what he had done, and she had never loved him more.
But she had also never been more convinced of their wrongness for each other, regardless. He was a duke, and she had just cost him his position. She was an actress with a Fenian brother she could not shake. One who would now want her dead.
She shook her head. “I cannot stay here, Hazel, though I do thank you. The time has come for me to do what I do best, and that is to be on my own. I have been since I was fifteen.”
“Stay here just a bit longer,” Hazel urged, her expression concerned. “No one knows this is where you were taken, where you have been staying, except for a select few. You are worried your brother’s men will find you. I can see it in your face. If you are here, you are in the safest place you can be.”
“It matters not where I stay,” she said, bitterness she could not entirely hide tingeing her voice. “I will be back on the stage. They will find me wherever I go. I will not be truly safe from him until I reach Paris because he does not have any men planted there to do his bidding. Maybe not even until I get to Berlin.”
Hazel’s brows rose. “You cannot truly be thinking of returning to the stage so soon, Johanna?”
“I must,” she said. “The show must go on.”
“The choice is, of course, yours,” Hazel said, “but you would be a fool to go anywhere else.”
“I would be a fool if I stayed.” Sadness colored her voice. “Thank you, Hazel. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for everything you have done for me, and I will treasure our friendship always. But the time has come for me to go.”
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