Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (5 page)

“
I’m delighted to see you up and about. You appear to be recovering nicely.” Her smile was strained, giving him hope he was making his point.

“
No thanks to you.” He held her gaze, not bothering to return her smile.

“
I wanted to apologize again. I didn’t mean to shoot you.”

“
But you were prepared to shoot the man to whom you were speaking?” Though he’d thought on it long and hard, he couldn’t imagine why she’d been in the East End dressed as such and with a gun, no less. Perhaps if he appeased his curiosity, his mind would let it go. Then he could forget her.

“
In truth, I only wanted to frighten him, but I have to admit I was tempted. It would’ve solved my problem which seems to be escalating daily.” She swallowed hard. “That man was supposed to hang for killing my father.”

Sympathy stirred deep within him
, much to his regret. “He was never caught?”

“
Actually he was. Caught and convicted and sentenced to hang yet somehow he escaped. How that happened remains a mystery.”

“
I’m sure the police would be quite interested to hear your story.”

Anger flashed briefly across her face.
“I tried that, but they’ve accused me of giving them false information. Among other things.” She dropped her gaze, causing him to wonder of what else they’d accused her. Then he reminded himself it was none of his business.

“
If a peer was murdered, the police will be certain to punish the culprit.”

“
They think they did. Their records show he hung ten years ago.”

She didn
’t look crazed, but he had to wonder. If she was lying, her aura would darken, but at the moment, it continued to glow. Yet her story made no sense. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. Maybe the man isn’t who you think he is.”

Her bottom lip quivered and those eyes grew even larger.
“I saw him. I saw him murder my father. I will never forget what he looks like.”

“
No. I don’t suppose you will.” Stephen knew all too well that there were some things a person never forgot.

“
Simmons—that’s the man with whom I was speaking when you interrupted—admitted his identity.”

A slim gray spear spiked through her aura. Now she was lying...or at least exaggerating. He waited to see if she
’d admit it.

“
Well, perhaps not in so many words. But he recognized me. He knew exactly who I was. He tried to give me some other name with the story that he was just released from prison. Why else would he skulk about outside our home if he were not the same man? Even worse, he broke in to our house three days ago.”

“
If all that is true, why would he bother you? Do you think he seeks revenge?”

She swallowed hard, her gaze met his again.
“That is my worst fear.”

The truth of her statement was reflected in the depths of her eyes. That vulnerability made him long to draw her into his arms, to comfort her,
to offer his protection. But if she knew the truth about him, she wouldn’t welcome his assistance. Far from it. “Your situation appears to be a difficult one. I wish you well with it.” He sat down, grateful the desk was between them which forced him to keep his distance.

Now
, if only she’d take his hint and leave.

Instead, she did the opposite. She sat in the chair on the other side of his desk, making herself quite at home.

“I’m afraid I have an appointment I must see to,” Stephen said, unable to believe she’d sat down uninvited.

He couldn
’t help but admire the tenacity of this woman. That had to be the reason he hadn’t thrown her out already. It couldn’t be because of her golden aura, or her sparkling blue eyes, or that slight dent in her chin.

Nor could it be because somewhere
, in the depths of his soul, he was grateful she was here, sitting in his library.

“
I’m here to ask for your help.”

“
I thought you were here to inquire about my health.” He no longer held hope that he could annoy her with his rude behavior but couldn’t resist trying. Never mind that he was starting to enjoy the challenge she presented.

“
I already told you I was glad to see you’re healing well and all that.” She waved her hand as she scooted forward on the edge of her seat. “But you see, I could think of no one else who could aid me.”

The last thing he wanted to do was get involved with this woman in any way. Especially since after their brief meeting, he couldn
’t get her out of his mind. Imagine what might happen if he had more time with her. No. The best course of action—the only course of action—was to get her to leave his home. Now.

“
I’m terribly sorry, but as I said, I must be going.” He rose, careful not to jar his shoulder. “Your best course of action would be to contact the police. Perhaps if you speak with someone in charge, they’ll be more sympathetic to your plight.”

But she didn
’t budge. She kept her seat, those big blue eyes peering up at him from beneath her hat. “He broke in. Though we’ve replaced the locks, he could do so again. Please, my lord. I am begging you for help. I have no one else to ask.”

“
Surely you have some male relative you could prevail upon.”

“
There’s only me, my stepmother, and my younger twin sisters. Uncle Reginald remains in the country. He does not care for the city or for us for that matter. There’s no one else.”

Abigail studied the lord, trying to determine the best way to convince him to help her. He looked much as she remembered although seeing him in broad daylight
in clean clothes certainly enhanced his attractiveness.

His green eyes
, framed by dark brows, were all the more arresting set against his tanned skin. His straight brown hair swept to the side. While his expression was less than friendly, she couldn’t stop the flutter in her stomach at the solid strength of him.

His clothing was modest but impeccable. She was certain his broad shoulders had more to do with
his true form than his well-cut morning coat. A waistcoat of the same cloth was just visible in the coat’s opening and a white shirt with a down-turned collar set off his dark skin. A knotted black silk neck scarf completed the suit.

His attractiveness and confident manner were appealing in a way she
’d never before encountered. He appeared capable of handling anything, including forcing Vincent Simmons to leave her family alone.

He was exactly the sort of man she needed.

Or rather, what the
situation
required.

H
ow could she get him to agree to do as she asked? Pleading with him seemed to have no effect. Perhaps cold, clear logic was the key.

“
Since you interfered with my questioning of the man, it’s only right you fix the problem.” She eased back in her chair, prepared to make her argument. She ruthlessly shoved aside her guilt at shooting him. In some respects, that had been as much his fault as hers. Or so she kept telling herself.

“
The only thing I interfered with was you putting a bullet through him.”

“
I was trying to get the truth out of him when you...got in the way.” Everything had happened so fast. Would she really have pulled the trigger if Lord Ashbury hadn’t come along?

“
I’m sure.” He nodded as though pacifying her.

She held back her ire. Whether or not he believed her didn
’t matter. She rose to face him, desperate to convince him. “You are my only hope.”

“
You need the police, not me.”

“
Their lack of response has forced me to take action into my own hands.”

He hesitated for the barest moment then shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I bid you good day.” He gestured toward the door as though he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

She promptly sat again, deciding he
’d have to physically remove her if he didn’t agree to assist her. She had no other options. “No.”

“
No
? I don’t believe you’re in a position to refuse.” He moved around the desk to stand before her chair, staring at her in disbelief.

“
Aren’t I?” With a smile, she looked up at him, waiting for him to realize she had no intention of leaving until he agreed to help her.

His eyes narrowed.
“You are a very determined woman.”

“
I know what I need.”

He leaned down, bracing his
good hand on the back of her chair.

She jerked back as her world tilted. He was so close she could see small flecks of gold in his green eyes. Her gaze drifted down to his lips. Even as she watched,
he drew nearer and her heart stopped. She instinctively tipped her mouth to meet his.

Perhaps she needed him
even more than she’d realized.

In different ways than she
’d first thought.

“
Go to the police.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Keep talking to them until you get someone who will listen.”

A moment passed before the meaning of his words sank in. Surely her disappointment wasn
’t because he hadn’t kissed her. No. It was because he refused to help, she reminded herself. Anger quickly replaced the disappointment.

“
I’ve already told you. I did that,” she snapped, annoyed with herself and her ridiculous response to this man. Her throat burned with the effort to control how she felt, how desperate she was to put Simmons and everything he represented behind her. “I need you.” She swallowed and tried to make herself clearer. “I need your
help
.”

She stared at him,
trying to gauge his reaction. He was her answer. She was convinced of it. If only she could convince him. “Please.”

His gaze held hers for the length of a breath then slowly lowered to her lips. Her breath
caught in her lungs as heat curled through her, wrapping its tendrils around her.

He
drew back and straightened with a grimace, breaking the spell. “I cannot help you.”

Distraught, her thoughts ran wild as she tried to think of any means, fair or foul, to force him to help her.
“In exchange for your assistance, I offer my silence about your nefarious activities.”

“
What?”

“
Your association with The Barbican. That’s hardly an appropriate activity for a lord.”

He scoffed and turned away to pace the room.
“Now you intend to blackmail me? Very unladylike of you.” His light tone mocked the gravity of her threat.

“
I will do anything it takes to protect my family. Anything.” She tried to make her tone menacing, but wasn’t sure what that should sound like.

He turned to look at her, his gaze resting just above her head. She resisted the urge to check her hat
to see if it sat askew.

“
While you are obviously adept at many things, blackmail is not your forte.”

“How do you know what I
’m capable of?”

“Let
’s just say I’m a good judge of character,” he said with another glance at her head.

“
It would be quite simple,” she continued as though he hadn’t already refused her multiple times. “I have the address of his lodgings and his favorite pub. It would only take a few moments of your time.”

He hesitated and she hoped he was
seriously considering helping her. Had she finally captured his sympathy?

“
You want someone to warn him?” he asked. “That’s all?”

She bit her lip, for in her heart she feared more than that would be necessary to make Simmons go away. But it was a start.
“Yes. Precisely.” She waited, her breath caught in her throat, hoping he would agree at last.

A long moment of silence followed.
“Very well then. I’ll see what I can do.”

She jumped to her feet, so grateful that it was all she could do to maintain her composure.
“Thank you so very much, my lord.”

“
But know this.” His narrowed gaze met hers, her heart skipping a beat at the anger she saw there. “You will not visit my home again. Do I make myself clear?”

Farley looked up from his desk as Stephen strode into his office at The Barbican. “There you are. I thought perhaps you’d decided to abandon me in favor of returning to polite society.”

Stephen scoffed.
“Hardly.”

“
I’m pleased to see that you’re recovering so well.”

In response, Stephen raised his arm, far from pleased with his progress.
“It’s coming along, I suppose.”

“
These things take time.” Farley folded his hands on the desk as he watched Stephen pace the room.

How like
Farley to refrain from asking where he’d been. “I have been wasting time chasing phantoms.”

“
Pardon me?”

With a heavy sigh, Stephen
raked his good hand through his hair. “I’m sure you remember Miss Bradford.”

Farley frowned for a long moment before his eyes widened.
“The woman who shot you?” The look of shock on his face was almost comical.

“
Indeed.”

“
And?”

“
She came to my residence.”

“
No!” Farley well knew how little Stephen cared for visitors of any sort at his home.

“
She insists she needs my help.”

Stephen
explained the nature of her problem and how he’d reluctantly agreed to assist her. He left out the reason he’d consented as that still escaped him.

“
Despite the name and address Miss Bradford provided, Vincent Simmons is nowhere to be found. No one seems to have seen or heard of him.”

“
Perhaps the police were right,” Farley suggested. “Maybe she provided false information to you as well.”

“
No. I saw the man myself in Alsatia that night. He has her worried.” The fear in her eyes had been all too real. That had been what had convinced him to aid her in the first place. Not that it had done any good.

“
I hate to burden you with other issues.” Farley tugged at the end of his mustache, a sure sign that something was bothering him.

“
What is it?”

“
We’ve received a report from one of the workhouses that several of the boys there have gone missing.”

He and Farley had a network of
‘associates’ throughout the city who kept them informed of any unusual activity. These contacts ranged from children to the elderly.

“
First it was only one, but now two more have disappeared.”

“
Did you check if Smithson or Rudley took them?” The two men, both owners of manufacturing plants, were notorious for abusing child labor laws. They’d been warned against it, but greed often took precedence over obeying the law. The small forms of children were ideally suited to fit into the narrow areas of the machines used in textile mills and the ventilation shafts of coal mines.

“
Excellent idea. I’ll send someone to make inquiries.”

“
Are they certain they didn’t run away?” Often boys took it upon themselves to obtain jobs of a less than desirable nature to earn money. Anything to help their families get out of the workhouse. But that was often where the trouble started. If they started down that path at a young age, it was difficult to pull them back onto the right side of the law.

That
was why Stephen chose to fund several workhouses and orphanages with profits from The Barbican. He also encouraged the children to attend school when possible and found legitimate places to employ them when they reached the proper age. By providing such opportunities, he hoped to keep them off the streets when they grew older. Doing so would give him less to do at night. The fewer thieves and cutthroats on the street, the better.

In truth, the auras of those struggling between good and bad tugged at him, especially in children. If he could help prevent them from being forced
to choose a life of crime so they could help feed and house their families, it eased his own torment. Aiding others couldn’t make up for the death of Professor Grisby or the injuries to his friends, but it helped chase away the shadows that haunted him at night.

“
Lawrence is the one who reported it to me,” Farley said, mentioning a lad who worked as one of their ‘associates’. “He thinks trouble is afoot. He knew one of the boys quite well, and the boy had never mentioned any plans to leave.”

Stephen considered what other action could be taken. A nig
gling sense of worry came over him. “I think Lawrence could be right. Have the other lads keep their eyes and ears open for more information. We’ll make some inquiries of our own.”

“
Very well, my lord.”

“
I fear additional efforts on Miss Bradford’s request will have to wait until we can track down those missing boys.”

“
As long as she doesn’t intend to come after you with her gun again,” Farley replied with a chuckle.

Stephen nearly shuddered at the thought.
“Perhaps her ghost has disappeared on its own. Then she will no longer plague me.” The idea of never laying eyes on the woman again should’ve pleased him.

Why didn
’t it?

***

Please advise the status of our project.

                             
A.B.

There, Abigail thought as she reviewed the message she
’d penned. Surely that was secretive enough. She hadn’t revealed her identity or the nature of their association.

Three days had passed since she
’d spoken with Lord Ashbury and she’d heard nothing.

Absolute silence.

Infuriating silence.

In truth, she
’d expected the matter to be resolved by now. How long did it take to locate a criminal and give him a warning? Especially since she’d given him Simmons’ name and address. She hoped a man involved in a gaming hell could manage such a thing with ease.

“
Abigail? Are you ready?” Her stepmother’s voice carried from the foyer into the library.

Abigail sighed. An afternoon spent shopping was not high on the list of things she desired to do. However,
her sisters had decided that none of her gowns would do for the Mortenson’s ball. The new one required another fitting this afternoon, and the girls insisted she needed to select the proper accessories for it as well. Abigail suspected the true reason they wanted to shop was to purchase something for themselves.

“
I’ll be right there, Mother.”

As she
watched her mother, Sophia, and Olivia walk out the door, she handed the envelope to Ponsford, the butler. “Please see this is delivered as quickly as possible.”

Ponsford
read the address then gave her a long look. “Do you think it wise to contact him? I thought we agreed that you’d keep your distance.”

She
’d told both Ponsford and Thomas of her decision to request Lord Ashbury’s assistance for their problem. Ponsford, well connected to the servants’ gossip that wound its way through the city, had cautioned her. Rumors circulated as to the lord and his activities, some describing him as odd while others called him dangerous. That particular description made her uneasy, but it also made him the perfect man for what she needed.

“We need to know if he
’s taken any action. I don’t want him to forget.”

“Very well, miss,” Ponsford said with obvious reluctance. “I
’ll see that it’s delivered.”

Abigail hurried outside to join her family, giving
a nod to Thomas who held the carriage door for her. She settled in beside her stepmother, letting the chatter of the girls flow around her. The day was overcast but pleasant enough for an expedition such as this one.

“
Mother, are we going to the lace-maker’s first?” asked Olivia.

“
We’ll be back in time for tea, won’t we?” Sophia asked.

“
Wouldn’t it be lovely to use some ostrich feathers if we purchase new hats?” Olivia’s hopeful expression made Abigail smile as she knew what Irene’s answer would be. Irene doted on the girls but kept a firm rein.

“
Feathers of any sort are not appropriate for a girl of your age.” Irene shook her head.

“
What about some striped ribbon?” Abigail suggested before Olivia could protest. “Perhaps you could tie an elaborate bow with it.”

Sophia
’s blue eyes grew wide at the suggestion. “Yes, let us try that, Livie.”

“
Shall we pick up the hats first?” Abigail asked, well aware the girls would be more patient at the dressmaker’s if they’d already made their purchases.

After several stops, they continued down
Regent Street to the lace-maker’s. Olivia still pouted about not being able to use feathers but soon forgot her disappointment at the many choices of lace. The girls contemplated options as though their very lives depended on their decision.

To
pass the time, Abigail stepped outside for some fresh air.

Then she saw him
. Vincent Simmons, as bold as could be.

Something about the way he leaned against a lamppost across the busy street caught her eye, for it was the same pose he
’d taken outside their home. Her heart pounded and chills raced down her spine.

Acting nonchalantly, she turned and studied the samples of lace displayed in the window. She kept her head tilted down, but lifted her gaze until she could see Simmons
’ image reflected in the glass. His appearance was more respectable than when she’d last seen him. His jacket seemed fitted and cleaner, his bowler hat almost fashionable. But his posture and features, even at this distance, were unmistakable.

She bit her lip, considering what action she should take. Thomas was with the carriage at the end of the crowded street, too far away to be of any assistance. Did she dare confro
nt Simmons herself?

Anger washed through her. This should not be happening! She
’d requested Lord Ashbury’s assistance to take care of Simmons, yet here he was. In broad daylight no less. Lord Ashbury owed her an explanation.

Holding tight to her anger, she
stepped back into the shop. “Mother? I’m going across the street to...” She looked over her shoulder to see what store she could use as an excuse. “To look for buttons. I’ll be back directly.”

Irene frowned.
“Are you in need of buttons?”

“
I thought they might have something the girls would like. I’ll only be a few moments.” She smiled brightly and gave a little wave, hoping she’d pulled off her small deception.

Without looking in the direction of Simmons, Abigail
wandered down the street, pausing to look in several of the windows. At last, she crossed to the other side and made her way toward where she’d last spotted him.

“
Abigail! What a pleasant surprise.”

Abigail started at her name
being called from across the crowded sidewalk. She caught sight of Catherine Vandimer waving and nearly groaned with dismay. “Catherine! How lovely to see you.”

“
And you as well in that rather...interesting gown.” Catherine looked up and down the length of her.

Near Abigail
’s age, she was wealthy, attractive and on the hunt for a title but apparently not for friends. Her catty comments were annoying, and she had a well-deserved reputation as a gossip.

Catherine
’s father had only recently made loads of money from a South American mine. Now that she was an heiress, Abigail had no doubt Catherine would soon be engaged to some titled lord who had no idea what he was getting himself into. In the mean time, Abigail felt a sort of kinship with her since she didn’t fit into polite society that well either.

Catherine
’s timing today couldn’t have been worse. Heart pounding, Abigail risked a glance over her shoulder to where Simmons stood.

Or rather, where he
had
stood.

Panicked, she searched the busy street but didn
’t see him anywhere. With a sigh of dismay, she turned back to Catherine.

Good manners dictated that
Abigail visit with the woman when what she really wanted was to walk away. While she refused to sink to Catherine’s level, she couldn’t resist giving a subtle dig of her own. “Yes, well, we don’t all have the time to dedicate to fashion that you do.”

“
If it’s a matter of time, I’d be happy to share what I— Abigail? Whatever is wrong?” Catherine asked, as she noted Abigail looking around.

“
I...I thought I saw someone I recognized.” She knew he watched her still. She could feel his gaze on her, could feel his smile at having outwitted her once again. Blast him!