Page 19 of Lady Be Good

“I quite like this public house,” said Catherine.

Lilah pulled her eyes from the door. She was doing her best not to keep watch. But it was tearing at her, not knowing where Christian was. Neddie said he’d lit out with Nick shortly before she and Catherine turned up. Had they found Bolkhov? Her nerves were strung tighter than a street-musician’s harp.

Catherine looked far more relaxed. Chin propped on one fist, she slouched on the bench across from Lilah, a plate of fried oysters and two half-drunk tankards before her.

The sight was sufficient to inspire brief amusement. “I think this pub likes you back,” Lilah said. Had anybody told her six months ago that she’d be visiting Neddie’s with Miss Everleigh, she would have laughed in their faces and then directed them to an asylum.

But once Catherine had cleaned herself up in Neddie’s washroom, she hadn’t wanted to go. Lilah had asked a man to ride around the auction rooms, and he’d reported back quickly: the building was dark, but he saw no damage from fire. That had set Catherine’s mind at ease. She’d decided to keep Lilah company.

“It’s safe here,” she’d said. “And I can’t bear to face my brother just yet. He’ll be full of questions . . . I’ll wait with you until Palmer and Mr. O’Shea come back.”

Shortly thereafter, some cheeky group had sent over two tankards of ale. Catherine had grimaced awfully at her first sip, which had inspired a great round of laughter. Now the entire pub had taken it upon themselves to send fresh rounds on the regular, just to see if she’d screw up her face again.

Catherine was toying with a fried oyster, inspecting it as though in search of flaws. “This establishment seems quite successful.”

Of course it was. “Nick owns it.”

She raised the oyster and gave it a dubious sniff. “Is he unmarried, your uncle?”

“Nick?” The thought was ludicrous. “Some husband he’d make.”

“Indeed? He’s of age, and he seems well established. How many properties does he own in London?” Catherine popped the oyster into her mouth, then made an enthusiastic noise and widened her eyes.

“I know,” Lilah said by way of agreement. “Nobody fries them like old Neddie. As for Nick, this public house was the first place he bought.” He’d needed some place to invest his ill-gotten money. The banks would have no truck with him, back in the early days. “Used to spend all his free time here, before he opened the House of Diamonds.”

“He’s almost—” Catherine put a hand over her mouth, evidently startled by her own poor manners; she had not yet finished chewing. She swallowed the oyster before continuing. “He’s almost a proper businessman, then.”

Lilah glanced again toward the door. Neddie said Nick had known where to look for Bolkhov. It was a hop and a skip away. They should have been back by now. “Proper? No. Businessman . . . I suppose so. Among other things.”

“Criminal things,” Catherine said solemnly.

“Well . . .” Lilah hesitated. Nick had long since passed the point of petty crimes; the profits were too trifling for him, now. “He doesn’t let the law stop him, that’s for certain.”

“I imagine he doesn’t let anyone stop him,” Catherine said. “Saint Nicholas. The King of Diamonds. A very dangerous man.”

Lilah frowned. “He never crossed anybody that didn’t deserve it. And he’s mostly a landlord these days. Owns every building for ten streets around us.”

“Really?”

Catherine’s amazement touched off an uneasy realization. Stars above. I’m defending my uncle.

Well, but it was true, wasn’t it? Nick was turning a fine profit now aboveboard, though certainly he still kept a hand in the below. And wasn’t there something gratifying about putting that look on Catherine’s face? Lilah’s kin might not be decent folk, but nobody would ever call Nick stupid. He had more power, in his way, than the mayor.

The aristocracy of the underbelly. So Christian had once put it when trying to drive her away. “Where are they?” she muttered. “It shouldn’t be taking this long.”

“Trust your uncle,” Catherine said serenely.

Lilah snorted. “If I’ve got one piece of advice, it’s to mistrust him with all you’re worth.”

“Oh, naturally. But . . .” Catherine looked into her tankard, delicately flicking at the foam. “You said he was honorable in his own way.”

“In his own way. Give Nick a plan, and he’ll turn it inside out, stand it on its head, fold it in half, and leave you so dizzy that you’ll end up convinced the plan was his idea in the first place.”

Catherine’s brows drew together. “So he’s a skilled negotiator, then.”

Lilah suddenly remembered that conversation in Catherine’s office, what seemed like ages ago. She’d asked for a meeting with Nick—to do with Bolkhov, she’d claimed.

But this line of questioning didn’t touch on the Russian. “Why are you so interested in my uncle?” she asked slowly.

Catherine’s lashes dropped. “Well . . . I’m not going to marry Lord Palmer, Lilah.”

Her throat tightened. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Catherine said serenely.

She didn’t know what to say. “Can you change your mind so easily? It’s bound to cause a scandal.”

“In polite circles, certainly. But . . .” Catherine shrugged. “I’ve never had any use for mixing with fashionable society. And even if I did, I could hardly marry Palmer. He’s in love with someone else, you see.”

Lilah folded her lips, bit them hard. “Do you think so?”

Catherine snorted. “I shan’t dignify that with a response.”

Lilah tried for a smile, but it slipped right off her lips. This conversation was tempting fate. “Where are they?”

Catherine opened her mouth, but Neddie forestalled her, materializing beside them to plonk another round onto the table. “From the Hooleys,” he muttered, before stalking off.

Despondent, Lilah lifted her mug and took a deep breath. Catherine, who had caught on three pints ago, hurried to hoist her own tankard.

“To the Hooleys!” Lilah yelled, and the boys in the far corner grinned and took their bows.

Catherine cleared her throat. “As for your uncle—I need somebody to manage my brother, you see. He’ll drive our company into the ground otherwise. And I can’t trust the courts. They always favor men when it comes to matters of business.”

“Is that so?” Lilah didn’t feel much like talking about business. If she hadn’t known that Nick would come back here first, she would have been alone right now, clutching herself and praying. She buried her nose in the foam for a sip.

The door flew open.

“So I’ve been contemplating another solution,” she thought she heard Catherine say, but she was on her feet, staring, breathless, nothing left in her but yearning, desperate hope—

One of Nick’s men came in—and there was Nick! She slammed the tankard onto the table and started toward him.

Now came a wolfish-looking man, tall and dark, whom she didn’t recognize. But where was Christian? Fear crystallized like an ice blossom in her chest. Her uncle spotted her, threw out his arms, and flashed a bright grin.

“Shot the bastard dead,” he said. “I might like him, after all.”

She pushed past him—and the breath left her. There, in the doorway—filling it completely, tall and broad-shouldered, whole, in one piece. Hale and handsome and wild-eyed—until his gaze found her.

She put her hand to her mouth. He was safe. Shot dead. It was over.

“—the hell you went,” Nick said.

“We saved ourselves,” came Catherine’s clear voice in reply. “Nobody else seemed likely to do it.”

His laugh rang out. “Pints for everybody then! To women who save themselves.”

Christian started for her. She sidestepped around the wolfish man, who said, “I’ll take something stronger than a pint, if you’ve got it.”

The next moment, Christian was before her. Gripping her. “Are you all right?” He lifted her bandaged hand. “You’re hurt.”

“No, no.” With her good hand, she caught his, gripping hard, thrilled by the strength with which he squeezed her back. “I’m fine now.” The words sailed out as smoothly as a spring breeze. She was fine, indeed. His face told her so. He looked lighter, unburdened, free.

He pulled her into an embrace. Fierce, tight hug. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him.

Hoots from the far corner. The Hooley brothers, sassing as usual.

His lips moved against her ear. “I’m taking you home.”

She breathed deeply of him. Gunpowder and sweat. Beneath it, always, his essence. Magic to her. “Where is that?”

He pulled away to look into her face. “My home,” he said—and then smiled slightly, as the Hooleys shrilled again. “Our home. Do you mean to argue?”

It was too delicious a moment. Launched so suddenly from fear into joy, she felt as though she were floating, giddy, already drunk. “Maybe,” she said, because in Whitechapel, a girl knew her own worth. She made a man work to earn her favor.

He laughed, a beautiful rich sound, and then bent and grabbed her by the waist. Hoisted her over his shoulder.

The Hooleys went wild. She craned around Palmer’s body to look. All across the room, tankards shot skyward in approval. Even Nick was smiling, while Catherine, by his side, cupped her cheeks to cover a blush.

“Ashmore,” Christian said. The wolfish man turned. “See Miss Everleigh home, will you?”

“Of course.”

“Not for a while yet,” Catherine said brightly. “Good night, Lilah! Lord Palmer!”

Lilah lifted her hand to wave farewell. Christian caught it and kissed her wrist. As he carried her out into the night, she started to laugh.