Page 16 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

sixteen

C HRISTOPHER DIDN’T BOTHER to change into fine clothes to pay a visit to his brother. No one, aside from Pearce and a couple of servants, would see him, and the meeting wouldn’t be long. His black coat and flat hat were more than enough. He was even wearing a waistcoat for the occasion.

The visit was overdue, but smuggling liquor and tobacco was a job that had no respect for a man’s private life.

He paused in a dark corner of Belgrave Square, watching Grafton House shine in all its glory. Carriages stopped at the front door to let out the aristocracy wearing their finest. A ball, perhaps. Who cared? If there was a ball, then Pearce had to be home.

He walked around the house towards the rear entrance. A short flight of stone stairs led him to the passageway where the servants put the containers of waste, as the smell of rotting vegetables suggested.

He knocked on the door and waited, gazing around.

“Who’s there?” A footman came out.

Christopher shoved his way inside. “I need to see the duke.”

The man was flustered. “Blackwood. It’s not possible. His Grace has guests tonight.”

“Then don’t waste his time. Go to tell him to see me now.”

“I have instructions not to let you?—”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by Christopher closing his hand around the footman’s neck. The man was tall and strongly built, but Christopher sparred and boxed with vicious criminals every other day. A prim footman eager to do his duty was a piece of piss.

He didn’t need to squeeze. In fact, his grip was rather gentle. The move was all about attitude with a generous dose of bad reputation.

“Now,” he said calmly.

Face reddening, the man left the anteroom and disappeared into the kitchen. Christopher propped an elbow on a barrel of apples, silently daring the man to send for the police. The sound of distant voices came from upstairs. Pearce would be furious about the fact Christopher had chosen that night to see him. Good.

The footman returned pale and shaking. “This way.” He led Christopher to the servants’ stairs. “First floor, second door to the right.”

“Good job. You deserve a raise.” He clapped the man’s shoulder and went up.

The temperature and the smells changed as he entered the upper floor. Warm air and the scent of wood polish reminded him of those times his father had visited him. He’d always carried a present for Mother—perfume, a new hat, a necklace—and something for Christopher—toy wooden horses or sugar sticks.

Grand memories.

The room also reminded him of the few times he’d been here. None of the visits pleasant.

He slid into a small study, which looked like a sitting room. Chintz armchairs, a large fireplace, and a glass cabinet competed for space. Pearce’s mother had been a Prussian princess, or something similar. They said she’d wanted Grafton House to look as regal as possible. She’d failed. The place looked overwhelmed with riches like a pirate cave.

Pearce arrived like a storm cloud. “What the hell are you doing here? How dare you demand to see me?”

“Stop this fuss. I won’t stay long.” He put the piece of paper with Sarah’s address on the desk. “Your son, Arthur, and his mother, Sarah, need you. This is their address. Take your responsibility and do right by them.”

Pearce glanced at the paper. “What responsibility? I’m sure the child isn’t mine.”

“All you need is a glance at him to understand he is.”

Pearce crumpled the piece of paper in his fist and tossed it in the cold hearth. “They aren’t my responsibility. And even if Arthur were mine, I wouldn’t behave as Father did, sharing his time between two families.”

“Taking his responsibility was the only decent thing Father could do.”

“Leave, Christopher. Sarah is a cunning woman, and she tricked you, too.” Pearce started to open the door, but Christopher slammed a hand against it, blocking it.

“Arthur was sick for days because he lived in a damp house. Sarah was struggling. You don’t want to spend money on them? Fine. I can provide for them, but I can’t be the child’s father. He needs you. You must be present in his life.”

“No.”

“Sarah was your mistress before you discarded her.”

“I broke our arrangement because she was meeting with someone else,” Pearce said. “I wasn’t her only one. Then three months after I broke the affair, she claimed she was carrying my child. How convenient.”

“She says you were her only one.”

“She’s lying. She didn’t favour me.”

“Bollocks. Arthur is your child.”

“Just leave, Christopher, and don’t come back.” He paused as if exhausted, before rushing out of the room.

Bloody fool.

Christopher took the piece of paper from the hearth and headed for Pearce’s bedroom. The noble duke needed a reminder of the not-so-noble deed he’d done.

A maid gasped when he walked past her, dropping the pile of towels she carried. “Good Lord!” she cried out.

“Oh, stop it. I’m leaving.”

Pearce’s bedroom had belonged to Father and hadn’t changed a bit. Christopher had been there only once when he’d said goodbye to his dying father.

Not so grand memories.

He put the address on the escritoire and left. Perhaps when Pearce was alone, he’d look at the address and decide to do the right thing. Christopher’s presence always triggered the worst responses from his brother.

Now, time for a pint and—he came to a grinding halt. His heart gave a stuttering kick, threatening to stop. Staring out of a bay window stood the last person he’d ever imagined seeing there that night. Or ever.

“Elizabeth.” He wasn’t sure if he’d whispered or said it out loud, but she turned towards him.

Her glossy chestnut hair framed her heart-shaped face, exalting her deep eyes that held him captive. He wasn’t ready for the physical pain seeing her again caused him; it was like a punch in the chest. But it wasn’t only pain.

There was a longing so powerful he staggered on his feet, a visceral desire to hold her, and a burning need to hear her laugh.

When he’d imagined seeing her again, he’d thought he’d be happy, grateful, or excited. But not that he would be in sheer pain.

Her lips parted, the only movement she made. “Christopher.”

She raked a glance over him, reminding him of how he looked. Long hair, black clothes like a highwayman, and a gun.

He took a step towards her, almost without realising it. “It’s been so long.”

She walked closer, her chest rising and falling quickly in her tight silk bodice. The ivory-coloured gown she wore made her look like a princess shrouded in light and gold, like a star and just as unreachable.

“I was worried about you,” she said. “All these years, I searched for you, but no one knew anything. You weren’t present at your father’s funeral. I hoped to see you there. I wanted to see you so much. I had so many things to tell you.”

“I …”

A rush of energy shuddered through him, ordering him to move.

He closed the distance between them with one stride and hugged her with desperation. For a moment, he feared she’d shove him away or scream bloody murder, but she wrapped her arms around him, and right then, he was transported back to the cottage when it was only the two of them and he wasn’t the bastard son of a duke but only Christopher. A boy who liked a girl.

Her scent hadn’t changed; it was the same delicate rosewood fragrance. But her body had changed. She had more curves, and her gaze had hardened. Despite that, she felt the same in his arms—beautiful and perfect.

He gently cupped her cheeks, needing to see her eyes. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She put a hand on his chest, sending frissons of excitement through him. The diamond earrings swinging from her earlobes caught the light.

“What happened to you? Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yes. How are you?” He couldn’t take his gaze off her.

She let out a sloppy laugh halfway between a snort and a gasp. “I’ve missed you so much. My mother didn’t let me see you after they found you.” Her voice grew high-pitched, and she shuddered. “I wanted to. You have to believe me, but she locked me up in my room, and I was worried you thought I didn’t want to see you?—”

“Shush. It’s all right.”

He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin was as silky as he remembered.

Her eyes flared wide at the gun. “Why are you carrying a gun?”

Reality was a slap to his face. Five years ago, he hadn’t had any right to be close to her. Now, he shouldn’t even share the same air she breathed.

He released her. “My life has changed.” He was a criminal now, a gangster. More than a gangster. The head of a very successful criminal organisation. “It’s better if no one sees you here with me. You should leave.”

“Now that I’ve found you? No.”

He stepped back, but she followed him, stopping an inch from him.

She breathed hard. “I tried to find you. I wanted to talk to you. It wasn’t me who decided to stay away from you.”

“I know. I’ve never thought it was you.”

“Then you left without saying goodbye.”

“I wanted to see you. My father didn’t let me.” His hand moved of its own accord and found her cheek again. “Not a day has passed without me thinking of you.”

She pressed her cheek to his palm. “Promise me we’ll see each other from now on.”

“Elizabeth!” The sharp, feminine voice ripped through the quiet corner of happiness. “Come here immediately.”

Elizabeth turned around. “Mother.”

He stepped back from her, despite every instinct in him saying otherwise.

“What are you doing?” Lady Lincoln strode towards them with the determination of an executioner.

She grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and gave it a hard yank, forcing Elizabeth to stagger towards her.

“Mother, you’re hurting me,” she said.

“Release her.” He didn’t care about courtesies. Not anymore.

Lady Lincoln pointed a finger at him. “You stay away from my daughter, or I’ll send for the police.” Her stern expression faltered when she saw the gun.

“I want to talk to him.” Elizabeth shrugged herself free.

“No. You must leave,” Lady Lincoln said.

As much as he wanted to spend more time with Elizabeth, he didn’t want a scene or cause her trouble.

“We’ll talk another time, Elizabeth,” he said.

“There won’t be another time.” Lady Lincoln gave a light push to Elizabeth, shoving her towards the other side of the corridor. “Go. Everyone is searching for you. I need a word with Blackwood.”

Elizabeth didn’t move, her hands clenched. “I want to talk to him.”

Lady Lincoln lowered her voice to a hiss. “Do you want the duke to come here and see this? Go!”

Christopher frowned. “The duke?”

Right then, Pearce’s voice echoed from the other side of the corridor. “Elizabeth? Where are you?”

“Go, for heaven’s sake.” Her mother urged her. “Before he comes here. It’s better for Blackwood as well.”

True. He nodded. “Go.”

“Elizabeth?” Pearce called again.

“We’ll meet again, Christopher, I promise.” Elizabeth raised a hand in farewell before vanishing down the corridor towards Pearce.

Christopher jutted out his chin as the countess came closer.

“Do you care about her?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you don’t want to ruin her, do you? She’s engaged to be married to His Grace. It’s a matter of weeks before we give the formal announcement.”

The news was like falling into the frozen lake all over again. Pearce, his brother, who detested him, would marry Elizabeth, would hold her at night, would give her a child, and would grow old with her. All the cockiness leached out of him.

“You aren’t going to ruin their future.” Lady Lincoln shook with anger. “You’re nothing but a disgrace to this family, and if you have a shred of conscience or good sense, you’ll leave the duke and my daughter alone. You have nothing to offer her but pain and humiliation, and I won’t allow it. Leave her alone. She’s going to be a duchess soon. Her reputation can’t be tarnished by you.”

There was some truth in that.

He couldn’t say anything. The pain that had struck him when he’d seen Elizabeth overwhelmed him because it was now ten times stronger.

Her expression softened. “I don’t hate you, Blackwood, and I don’t have anything against you, but you must understand my position. I’m protecting my daughter, and you’re a danger to her. She’s an earl’s daughter. You’re an illegitimate son. You two don’t belong together. Now leave.” She didn’t wait for a reply before hurrying down the corridor.

He stood there, staring at the spot where Elizabeth had been a moment ago. Fate had a wicked sense of humour. He’d found Elizabeth but only for a brief moment, a cruel reminder of how much he desired her and how he would never have her.