She blew out a breath. “It can’t. This cannot go any further.”
“Because you’re a lady and I’m street trash.”
She looked at him scornfully. “Have you ever heard me say that? I don’t think of either of us in those terms.”
“I want you,” he said, his voice so rough and low he hardly knew himself. He took her hand in his, running his thumb back and forth across her wrist. Her pulse came quick and fast beneath his touch. He wanted to pull her across the narrow space of the carriage and start up where they’d left off, with his hands beginning their journey up her legs and her gasps in his ear. “You want me. Simple.”
“Not simple,” she countered. “Complicated. I work for Nemesis, and getting involved with you compromises that.”
“Nobody has to know.” Back and forth went his thumb, learning the softness of her skin.
“
I
would know. And it would throw off my judgment. Stop it.” She tugged to free her hand from his grasp. “I can’t think when you do that.”
“You need to think less.” He wouldn’t release her. “Stay too much in your head, and the rest of you dries up and blows away.”
A sudden hurt shone in her eyes. “My thoughts and my work are all I have. I can’t give them up.” She gave her hand another tug, and he let her go. A second passed, as if she waited for him to continue arguing or reach for her again.
He said nothing. There’d be naught to gain this night. He hadn’t known how damn close she kept herself, walled up even more than Dunmoor Prison.
“We’ll go up,” she said after a few moments. “Tell the others what we’ve learned tonight.”
Reaching over, he opened the door to the carriage, noting the way she held herself still when he moved nearer. But he didn’t touch her, only waved toward the open door, letting her go. Maybe gentlemen got out of carriages first and helped ladies down. But Jack couldn’t walk comfortably. Not yet. And his will had already been sorely tested. Touching her made him want more.
She cast him a wary glance before climbing down. As Jack took several calming breaths, willing his body to quiet, she paid the cabman and thanked him for his service.
That thought niggled him again. Was she using the attraction between them to keep him controllable? The closer they got to Rockley, the more Jack wanted his blood. But when Eva kissed him, touched him, thoughts of everything but her fled. He’d be willing to do anything, if only to taste her again.
She wouldn’t rook me like that.
“Coming, Jack?”
“Aye,” he grunted. He stepped down and nodded at the driver before the hackney rolled on.
As Eva unlocked the door to the chemist’s shop fronting the headquarters, Jack stood on the curb, watching her, hands in his pockets. Her back was straight, as if she expected an attack. No, not an attack. An escape.
The door to the shop opened, and they walked inside, passing the rows of silent bottles and the scale.
She really was like Dunmoor Prison, closed up tight, containing walls within walls. It was herself she kept locked away. Afraid of what might happen if she were to break free.
Tonight, he wore a gentleman’s evening clothes, but that hadn’t changed who he was: an escaped convict. He was glad of that. Glad he knew how to break out of prison. It meant that he could help her escape her own. But she was strong, an unknown to him in plenty of ways. She had to demolish her own walls.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Marco stalked into the parlor and threw a newspaper onto the table.
“It’s over,” he snapped, pacing.
Eva set aside her tea then picked up the paper and read aloud for the benefit of Simon, Jack, and Lazarus, also drinking their morning tea. “‘
QUEEN TO MAKE RARE PUBLIC APPEARANCE.
’”
“Page four,” said Marco curtly.
Turning to the appropriate page, Eva scanned the columns. What she saw made her curse softly.
“What’s happened?” Jack demanded, getting to his feet.
Eva continued reading. “‘John Gilling, a barrister of the Inner Temple, was discovered early this morning near his chambers, cruelly murdered. The poor gentleman had been stabbed to death.’” She gazed up from the paper, stunned.
Everyone made noises of shock and disbelief. Her heart pounded in her ears as she went on. “‘Mr. Gilling’s corpse was discovered in an alley by one Harry Peele, dustman, as Mr. Peele went about his morning circuit. Though Mr. Peele has been taken into custody for questioning, the chief suspect is the notorious criminal Jack Dalton, who has recently escaped from Dunmoor Prison.’”
“Does it say any more?” Simon asked.
She quickly looked over the rest of the article. “Only some editorializing about the sad state of our fair city, where respectable men could be murdered near their place of business by fugitives from the law, et cetera.” She flung the paper onto the floor.
Jack, who had joined Marco in pacing the floor, kicked the offending newspaper, though it didn’t travel far. “Rockley.”
“So it appears,” Eva said. She rubbed at her tired eyes.
Sleep had been scarce last night, her mind and body both too stimulated to allow her any rest. Thoughts of the evidence against Rockley had crashed against remembering Jack’s hands, his mouth, the honeyed ferocity of his kiss. She’d ached everywhere, craving his touch, wishing she’d taken him back to her rooms where they could have stripped out of their evening finery and finally given in to their mutual desire. But she’d made the right decision by refusing him. Or so she’d told herself as she drifted into fitful slumber.
He hadn’t shaved this morning, and he looked so dangerously alluring with stubble darkening his hard jaw, it had taken considerable self-control not to drag him up the stairs to his bed. To save her sanity, she’d kept her gaze away from him, their conversation to a minimum.
Yet she couldn’t stop watching him pace like a caged animal, seething with brutal fury.
“Rockley killed Gilling?” Lazarus wondered, frowning. “When?”
“Sometime last night,” Eva answered. “After Jack and I left Rockley’s place.” She knocked the side of her fist against the table, making the teacups rattle. “Damn it, we should’ve stayed.”
“And done what?” Simon asked. “You would’ve seen Rockley go into his home, but there wouldn’t have been any way to know he’d murder Gilling. Or any way to stop it. It’s easy enough to sneak a body out of a house under cover of night, and if you’ve got men of criminal reputation in your employ. Which Rockley has.”
“But
why
would he kill Gilling?” Lazarus pressed.
“On account that Gilling went to Rockley and told him about me,” Jack said, still stalking up and down the parlor. “Just as we wanted. We light a fire under them both, and get Gilling to put the squeeze on Rockley. Gilling’s more afraid of what the government will do to him than he is of Rockley.”
“But to Rockley, the weak link becomes Gilling,” Eva added. “He knows about the government contract, knows about the evidence, which makes him a liability to Rockley. Since he can’t get to Jack, he can silence Gilling. So he does.”
“He’s ruined women and killed a prostitute,” Marco said, “but we don’t have any evidence that he’s killed a man before.”
“Now he has,” Lazarus said, shaking his head. “Jesus.”
“Could have been done by one of his bodyguards,” Simon suggested.
“Thugs would beat a man to death, not use a blade,” Jack said. “If it came to it, a bodyguard would shoot a man. We don’t go for knives. But Rockley,” he added with a snarl, “he’s fond of ’em. Seems to be his preferred way of killing.”
The truth of this sank in, and everyone looked appalled.
“He pins it on you,” Eva said, “and gets the Metropolitan Police to do his dirty work.” She picked up her teacup, then set it back down. She’d no desire for tea. Or anything else.
Marco swore in extravagant Italian, his favorite tongue for foul language. “With Gilling’s death, we’ve lost our way to strike at Rockley. Worse, security around Rockley and the evidence is going to be impenetrable. He’ll throw everything he has at keeping his person and the documentation secure.”
“This whole operation is fucked,” muttered Lazarus.
Cursing viciously, Jack spun around and threw his fist into the wall. Reverberations shook the parlor.
At that moment, the door opened to reveal a young woman in a cloak and bonnet. She stared at Jack, her eyes wide, a gloved hand raised in shock.
“Mr. Byrne downstairs recognized me and said I should go up. Perhaps,” she said weakly, “I ought to come back another time.”
Eva jumped to her feet and hurried to the girl. “No, no, please come in, Miss Jones.”
Jack pulled his fist back, revealing the hole he’d punched in the plaster, and a new web of cracks marring the wall. Despite the plaster dust coating his hand, he appeared to be fine. The wall, however, was not. He hid his hand behind his back as Miss Jones took a few tentative steps into the room.
“We’re, ah, making excellent progress on your case,” Eva said, guiding the young woman to a chair. “Might I get you a cup of tea?”
Miss Jones shook her head. “No, thank you.” She made no move to take off her bonnet or cloak. No plans to stay long. She sent Jack a few cautious glances as she sat.
“This is Mr. Dutton,” Eva said quickly. “He’s assisting us with your case.”
“That’s precisely why I’ve come.” Miss Jones picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, studiously avoiding everyone’s eyes. Which prevented her from seeing the looks of concern shared by the Nemesis operatives.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t like some tea?” Eva pressed, knowing that the delay in fixing the girl a cup would give her time to collect herself.
“All right.” It was a capitulation, not an agreement. Though Miss Jones had come to Nemesis a somewhat timid creature, she seemed even more so now, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling as they rested on the table. Her skin was paler, too.
Eva went into the kitchen to prepare tea. No one in the parlor spoke, and in the strained silence, it felt as though she were banging on a timpani drum rather than stirring milk into a delicate china cup. When she finally emerged from the kitchen, she set the cup down in front of Miss Jones and took a seat beside her.
The girl picked up her tea, but her hand shook so much the liquid spilled over the rim and onto the tablecloth. “I’m sorry.” She blinked back tears as she set her cup back down with a clatter.
Oh, this wasn’t good. Eva laid her hand over Miss Jones’s. “It’s all right,” she murmured.
“It isn’t!” The young woman looked martyred as she stared at Eva. “It’s terrible! Worse than terrible. Disastrous.”
“We’ll soon make everything right with Lord Rockley.” Simon gave Miss Jones a reassuring, kind smile, which only made the girl appear even more miserable.
Miss Jones took a shuddering breath, as if steadying herself, then spoke in a rush. “Whatever it is you’re doing to get me justice, however you plan on extracting recompense from Lord Rockley—I want you to stop.”
Stunned silence followed. Eva could only blink her astonishment, seeing equally baffled expressions on everyone else’s faces.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Lord Rockley … he…” Miss Jones covered her mouth with her hand.
Rage poured through Eva. “Did he hurt you again?”
Eva’s anger must have shown in her countenance, for the girl said quickly, “Not physically, no. But,” she added, “he’s been making threats. Warning me that if I try to take any further action against him he’ll make my life even more hellish than it already is. I won’t be accepted anywhere. My father’s business will be ruined.”
“Does Rockley know about Nemesis’s involvement?” Marco asked.
The young woman shook her head. “He knows only that I’ve made allegations against him. And that I haven’t left London. Yet that is exactly what I intend to do. Leave the city. Perhaps even leave England. I just want to disappear, to bury it all.”
“You’ve spoken of this to your father?” Eva said.
“Papa thinks I’m having tea with a friend today. He’s no idea I’m here, or what I’m asking you to do. But, please,” she said, turning imploring eyes to Eva, “stop pursuing Lord Rockley. No good can come of it.”
Fury the likes of which Eva had never known surged through her. Only the presence of Miss Jones kept her from unleashing a torrent of foul language. She had a strong urge to throw her fist into the wall, just as Jack had done. What she truly wanted to do was beat Rockley into a syrup. Bad enough that he’d ruined Miss Jones, but now he intimidated and threatened her into silence.
He had the blood of at least two people on his hands. Jack’s sister, and now Gilling.
“We cannot stop,” Eva said. “Rockley must be brought down. He’ll just keep hurting more girls, girls just like you.”
“If I demand it?” Miss Jones pressed, her voice quavering.
Frustration and sympathy warred within Eva. Words tried to form, words that would give Miss Jones the necessary strength to continue in their pursuit of Rockley. But the young woman was fragile, and anything Eva could think to say might sound bullying and cause the girl to crumble even more. Judging by the silence from the other members of Nemesis, they were struggling with what to say, as well. None of them wanted to abandon the case.
Jack suddenly grabbed a chair and pulled it near Miss Jones. He turned it around to straddle the chair, bracing his arms on its back. The girl looked startled, almost ready to flee, until he gentled his expression to something verging on kindness.
“Did you have plans for yourself before this business with Rockley?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard. After a moment, she answered, “My parents wanted me to marry. They were hoping to find me a respectable tradesman and see me settled as a wife and mother.”
“And what did you want for yourself?” He asked this softly.
She cast her gaze down to the floor. “I … wanted to be a teacher. It didn’t matter to me if I married or not. But I’d hoped to find some mill town school where I could teach the children of the workers. Give them a chance at life outside of a mill. It doesn’t matter anymore.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. “No one will hire a ruined girl. And now Lord Rockley threatens not only me, but my family. I’ve lost my dream, but I can’t let my parents suffer for my mistake.”