Page 5

C rispin lay back on his bed at Mivart’s Hotel and let out a sigh of relief. He was legally married, solvent, and his sister was still alive. All in all, not a bad day. Of course, Dunwoody would need to be reckoned with soon enough. His new wife’s knife might prove handy someday. No , he said aloud, shaking his head. Murdering a peer was out of the question. Even a peer as disgusting as Dunwoody.

Rising to punch his pillow a few times, Crispin resettled himself. Should he go to Birdy? She was his wife, but also a stranger. Was she expecting him to give her time before they were intimate? Was she expecting an unconsummated marriage?

The thought made him abandon his pillow and sit up on the edge of his bed. Bedding her would be no hardship. She was clever, kind, and beautiful. Imagining himself loosening her braids and letting her long dark hair fall free around her shoulders and over her breasts convinced him to make his way to the door connecting their hotel rooms.

He’d taken two steps when the door opened, and she walked in. Stunned into silence, he could only stare and wait for her next move.

“We should begin as we mean to go on.” She delivered the words without emotion or inflection. She wasn’t asking a question, but he nodded his agreement anyway. He was about to speak when she reached up and pulled the leather ties at her shoulders and her buckskin dress, weighted down with bells, beads, and shells, slid down her body and puddled at her feet.

Too stunned to move, Crispin worked his jaw to stop himself from saying whatever words would cause her to stop. Deftly stepping out of the dress at her feet, she approached, wearing nothing but her leather stockings and moccasins.

For a fraction of a second, Crispin recalled the knife hidden within and wondered if she thought to kill him. Maybe he deserved it, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Stepping forward at last, he held out his hand to her and was relieved when she grasped it.

“Tell me what you want,” he managed to croak out as he reached for the ties binding her hair. She allowed him to loosen her braids as her clever hands made quick work of the fall of his trousers. Her intent was clear, and he wasn’t about to argue.

“To the bed,” she said, giving him a gentle push to the chest.

Stumbling backward as he tried stripping off his trousers on his way, she reached out for his elbow to steady him, and they both laughed. He was acting as a green schoolboy and knew he’d be embarrassed about it later but, for tonight, he would enjoy it.

Clawing at his stockings as he lay down, he thought to mention the still-burning candles flickering shadows around the room. “Candlelight,” he managed to mumble as she climbed atop him.

“I want to see you,” she replied. “And I want you to see me.”

“Is this heaven?” he asked cheekily as he lay back, allowing her to direct their pace and lead his hands to where she craved them most.

What began slowly with kisses and caresses quickened as their desire grew. Braced atop him, her long dark hair formed a curtain around them, an enclave, a secret place just for the two of them. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her intoxicating scent of rosemary and verbena. Whatever soap or perfume she used he’d buy crates of it just to remember this feeling.

“Thank you for marrying me,” he said breathlessly. “Thank you, Lady Morgan.” His words were too small for what he was feeling but he couldn’t bring himself to say more. If she knew of his past failures she’d never trust him or give herself freely to him again.

“I am your wife,” she whispered back as she snaked her hand between their bodies and caressed his eager cock. “You will have no reason to regret it.”

“I will love you, Birdy. I will.” He knew the words were wrong the moment they left his lips, but it was impossible to think straight with her hand now teasing his balls.

“I know,” she replied as she lifted her hips and guided his straining erection into her.

Grabbing her hips as she clasped his shoulders, they rocked back and forth a few times until finding a mutually pleasing rhythm. Birdy tossed her head to the side, rearranging her hair and creating an opening to their enclave. Her chest was flushed, and her face glowed with perspiration from the efforts of their lovemaking. She was beautiful and wild, and she was giving all to him.

“Kiss me,” he demanded. “Kiss me.” Her response was to laugh and toss her hair again as she guided a breast to his eager mouth. He was cock deep into a beautiful woman, suckling a full round breast with a dusky nipple and yet he wanted her lips too. He wanted all and more.

Hips meeting hers thrust for thrust, he was determined she would never forget their first time. Never forget the depth and intensity of their lovemaking. Never doubt his attraction to her.

Too late. Too late for him to say all the right words. Too late to postpone the inevitable culmination of their efforts. He was desperate for release and unprepared for the string of pleas erupting from his mouth.

“Please,” he squeaked out as breath became precious. “I can’t stop.”

“Don’t stop,” he heard the words whispered in his ear. “Surrender to me.”

Yes . His groin spasmed, releasing wave after wave of pleasure radiating down to his toes and up to his brain. The sensation left him feeling warm, spent, and almost embarrassingly happy.

He wanted to laugh or cry or maybe recite poetry. If only his brain wasn’t mush and his muscles slack with exhaustion. “Birdy,” he whispered her name at last as she lifted herself away and slid down to lie beside him. She was still wearing her leather stockings, and they felt warm and rough against his sweat-dampened skin.

“I’ll go back to my room now. We both need sleep.” There was a sudden rush of cold air against his skin as she climbed from the bed and gathered up her dress. “Tomorrow, we talk.”

Still drunk with sex, he nodded his head as he pulled up a blanket to cover his nakedness and hold in the warmth she’d left him with. He wanted every night to be like this. He’d build a wall around his past, his shame, and the burden of surviving when others did not.

Back home Birdy would have washed herself in the Gichigami and walked out a new woman. Here at Mivart’s Hotel, she had to be content with giving herself a thorough scrub with a white flannel and a pitcher of tepid water.

Had he seen how nervous she was? Could he tell her hands were shaking? She’d meant it when she said they should begin as they meant to go on. To postpone their intimacy would have become more awkward with each passing night. He wasn’t, based on his reaction, repulsed by her. Rather, the opposite from her point of view.

She should have paced herself, but once begun, there was no stopping for contemplation. A wicked smile creased her lips with the thought that she left him nothing to complain about. But even in intimacy he hid a part of himself away. He might not have realized it, but he still hadn’t surrendered to her.

He would.

She would pack her wedding costume away carefully, minus the one white feather of a snowy owl. Perhaps one day she’d wear it again or even pass it on to a daughter or the wife of a son. Birdy sighed wistfully. Her daughters and sons, if there were any, would be English and likely have little need for such a thing. They would deem it foreign, rustic, and old-fashioned.

Still, she would keep it to show them what she once was and would always be in her heart. Tomorrow morning, she’d bind up her hair, truss herself in the latest London fashion, force her feet into hard, ill-fitting heeled shoes and pretend to be comfortable, disguised as an English woman. She would do it for Crispin, for her father, and to save their island.

The next morning, as soon as she had her bonnet in place, there was a knock on the door that led out to the main hotel hallway. Could it be Crispin? Her father? She rushed to the door and threw it open to find no one there but an envelope on the floor in front of her door. An envelope with a crudely drawn bird in place of a name.

Looking up and down the hallway, she cautiously stooped down and snatched it up. A sense of foreboding crept up from her fingers as soon as she touched the paper, and she ran across the room to the connecting door. Banging on Crispin’s door with an open palm, she called out his name.

“Crispin, wake up. It’s your wife.” She turned the handle cautiously, wondering if he’d locked it.

“Well, aren’t you eager to start the day?” He answered the door with a broad, teasing smile while pulling on his coat.

“I got this,” she said, shoving the note into his chest. “It’s from the bad spirit man, I know it.”

“Bad spirit man? Hold up,” he said. “Who gave this to you? Was someone in your room?”

“No, I heard a knock and found it outside my door just now.” She couldn’t explain her foreboding. No one other than Crispin should have known she was in that room.

“Calm down, maybe it’s just the hotel bill,” he teased. But she could tell he didn’t believe his own words.

“I couldn’t bear to read it without you or my father present. It feels evil,” she said as he ushered her into his room. She hadn’t expected trouble this soon. It was time for Crispin to tell her the whole truth.

“I’m glad you brought it to me. I’m your husband. You should bring your concerns to me now, not your father.” As he spoke, he opened the envelope and began to read. Birdy watched as his face turned from curiosity to interest to anger.

“What is it? Is it bad?”

“Yes,” he replied as he read it over again. “It’s from Dunwoody. He thinks you know where his wife is. If you fail to supply that information, he’s threatened to petition both the Hudson Bay Company and the Northwest Company to purchase your father’s trading post. He’s willing to support his petition with funds.”

“We have to tell my father. He’s been able to rebuff the Northwest Company representatives for a few years now. We’ve been too small and remote for the Hudson Bay Company to take much notice of us until recently. Lord Dunwoody’s petition may reignite their desire for the island.”

“Whenever I think he can’t go any lower, Dunwoody finds a new level of cruelty. He must have had your father investigated after their encounter yesterday. He was probably betting on you bringing the note to your father instead of me. Birdy…we can’t.”

“I would not betray your sister.” Being good with secrets meant knowing when it no longer served a purpose to keep one. It was time to let Crispin know what she also knew.

“What do you know about my sister?”

“I met her.”

“What? How?”

“At the Lyon’s Den. She told me he was cruel to her. I know about the baby too.”

“You knew the whole time? And about our marriage?”

“I knew you asked for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s toughest case.” She’d not meant for the words to sound like an accusation. Initially hurt, her feelings had long recovered. It was best he knew, but she hadn’t intended to blurt it out this way.

“Birdy, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I’m sorry I dragged you and your father into this mess.” Crispin ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not. My eyes were open. I was presented with the facts and given a choice. Marriage was my choice, Crispin.” She reached out for him, but he turned away. “You should have told me. I only hope that you not look upon me with regret. Regret for marrying me or regret for not telling me sooner. When I said we should begin as we mean to go on, I meant it. I forgive you, truly and completely. There is no need for us to speak of it again.”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Crispin said, tossing the paper on a side table. “But I will. I promise I’ll figure this out.”

“We will fix this together, but we need to tell my father. He has many friends and access to many resources in Montreal. My mother’s people cannot lose their island.”

“We need to find your father.” Crispin picked the note back up, folded it in half, and shoved it into his breast pocket. “I believe he was meeting with Mrs. Dove-Lyon this morning.”

“Then we should go to the Lyon’s Den.”

“She’s not there anymore. My sister, I mean. Even I don’t know where she’s been taken.”

“Do you think her husband will connect your sister’s disappearance to the Lyon’s Den?”

“It might look suspicious if we go running there the day after our wedding. He found your hotel room door easily enough. He may be having us followed.”

“If he is, we’d better find out. Get your hat, we’re going for a stroll.” Her new husband was about to discover her stalking and hunting skills. She hadn’t thought to use them quite so much in London.

The hotel lobby was doing brisk business, with many travelers checking out for the day. A long line of coaches lined the street outside and porters ran by with traveling trunks and boxes. At first glance, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

“Enlighten me,” Crispin said after their third turn about the lobby. “What are we looking for?”

“Concentrate on where everyone’s attention is focused. For instance,” she inclined her head toward a bank of overstuffed chairs, “That gentleman has been reading the same newspaper article for the past ten minutes.”

“Maybe he’s just a slow reader.”

“Or maybe the newspaper is a diversion. The porters aren’t looking at us at all because we carry no baggage. The front desk steward is focused on collecting money and room keys. However, the gentleman standing just outside the window smoking a cigar appears to be waiting for something.”

“A carriage?”

“He’s positioned himself to be able to look through the window into the lobby and also see who might exit the door. There might also be someone waiting just outside.”

“You’re a little scary, Birdy. What do you suggest we do next?”

“We leave and see if anyone follows.”

“The weather’s fair. It wouldn’t be unusual for a couple to take a stroll through Grosvenor Square over to Hyde Park.”

“Then that’s where we should go. Lead the way.”

“I’ll monitor the fellow with the cigar. You can watch the newspaper man,” he said as a footman rushed to open the doors.

They made their way down Brook Street toward Grosvenor Square. “Nothing yet,” Crispin said, looking over his shoulder.

“If they’re good at it, they’ll allow a little distance to build up between us and them so as not to arouse suspicion. We need to keep our pace, stay in areas where there are other people about, and look back without being obvious about it. Once we find them out, we’ll circle back and get behind them.”

“So the hunter becomes the hunted?”

“Precisely. In about twelve paces, you will stop walking and point at something to our left.”

“Point at what?”

“Anything. It doesn’t matter. Find a chimney you like. I’ll keep walking a few paces and need to turn around to explore what you’re pointing at. I’ll use that opportunity to look behind us for any familiar faces from the hotel.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“My mother’s people are traders and gatherers, but some tribes are warring people. They trade in captured slaves. Every child on the island is taught how to evade capture.”

“I thought slavery was strictly a white man’s offense.”

“Any man will partake as long as it’s profitable. We’ve gone our twelve paces. Please stop and point now,” she said as she kept walking.

Crispin waited for her to take her few steps ahead, before pointing to the sky. “Look, a stork. My god, I haven’t seen one of those in years. It’s a stork, I’m sure of it.” Crispin’s acting was so convincing that several passersby squinted into the sky, trying to locate the bird.

Birdy swallowed down her smile at his theatrics and spun around. Rather than looking where he was pointing, she scanned the street behind him, noting movement and faces. It was the newspaper man after all. He wasn’t clever enough to use a different affectation and the folded newssheet tucked under his arm made him easy to spot.

“Newspaperman,” she whispered to Crispin. “And you can put your arm down now.”

“The old bloke with the newspaper? I was betting on Cigar Man.”

“Dunwoody has no imagination if he thinks the first thing we’d do after our wedding is run to your sister’s side. Let’s lead newspaper man on a merry chase, shall we?”

“I’m delighted you can find the humor in the situation. When do we confront him? I’m looking forward to that bit.”

“We’re going to sneak up on him and catch him unawares. You’re more familiar with this part of Town than I am. Is there an alley behind these buildings?”

“Ah, let me think. Oh, yes, there’s a passageway for tradesmen and servants. Any of these shops should have access to it.”

“Come, let’s go through this one,” she said, grabbing his arm.

“We can’t do that one. It’s a coffeehouse. No respectable woman would be seen going in there.”

“We’re only going to run straight through it to the back alley. I’ll be gone before anyone can foment their outrage.”

“I will put my foot down on this, Birdy,” he said, leading her instead to a small print shop. “It would raise suspicion.” Crispin ran them through the shop, obscuring her face with his hat while he called out his apologies to the studious typesetters.

The alleyway was dark and damp but uninhabited, and they quickly made their way back out onto the street. Perhaps her new husband had done a little hunting of his own because he was a quick study and had Newspaper Man cornered before he could flee.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Crispin asked as he grabbed the fellow up by the collar of his coat. “I don’t like being followed, and you’re going to tell me why you are.”

“Don’t know what yer talking about,” the man replied as his eyes went wide. “I ain’t doing nothing, guv. Just walking, same as you.”

Birdy scanned the street and considered their options. Her knife was hidden under her skirts as it was too big for her reticule, but Crispin might not be pleased with his new wife lifting her skirts in public to retrieve it. She could use the reticule ribbons to form a rudimentary garrote if she had to, but Crispin’s hand was already at the man’s throat.

“Who hired you?” Crispin demanded. The man made a few choking noises as his face went red until Crispin momentarily loosened his grip.

“Dunwoody,” he sputtered out. “Nicked in the nob but had plenty of brass.”

“How do you report back to him?” Crispin gave the man’s neck another warning squeeze.

“Hyde Park. When I report back, I get the other half of what he owes me. I only took the job because I’m on the rocks.”

“What, exactly, are you supposed to report?” Birdy asked.

“Where you go and if you post any letters or such.”

“What about the other fellow? What’s his job?” Birdy took a chance that Dunwoody hired more than one man and that they were aware of each other.

“He’s only supposed to follow the older fellow, the rustic from Canada.”

“How much is he paying you?” Birdy could only hope that her father was able to lose the other man before he went to the Lyon’s Den.

“Shilling to follow you and another one when I report back.”

“How do you report back?”

“I’m to look for a carriage in the park. A closed carriage with a bird on the door. Like an eagle or something.”

“Is your loyalty for hire?” Crispin asked, releasing the man’s neck. Dunwoody’s family crest featured a golden eagle. There was no doubt who the man worked for.

“I don’t owe him as much as that. He’s the one what kicked me out on the streets. I worked stables. One day he up and left town, leaving me holding out my pockets. I was near stunned when he showed up and offered me this. I’m not rich enough to hold grudges.”

“How’d you like to make half a crown every day?” Crispin stepped back and eyed the man warily.

“Show me the half-crown.”

Birdy fished around her reticule for the proper coin. Crispin was frowning at her, but they had little other recourse.

“Here,” she said, handing it over. “You start work today.”

“All right then,” he said, holding out his hand for Crispin to shake.

“Name’s Shaw. Thomas Shaw.”

“Mr. Shaw.” Crispin eyed the man’s hand suspiciously but hesitated only a moment before sealing their deal like gentlemen.

“What did you do to make Lord Dunwoody so mad, and what do you want me to tell ’im?”