Chapter Twenty-Two

C hapter T wenty - T wo

H unter did not sleep with Lucy in his arms. Could not. He only held her and watched the sun slowly light the eastern horizon and eventually peek over it.

He felt no joy or satisfaction at the sight of it.

Today was the day he would have to let go of Lucy.

The hollowness of the prospect had begun as soon as the first rays of the sun had hit him, draining him more and more of life even as it lit the world in greater force. What a paradox this was and what agony daylight was bestowing upon him. He'd never wanted to curse his occupation before, but now…

He couldn't abandon his work for anything, not even love. Lives were at stake, and he was in too deeply to be able to leave with ease. He couldn't straddle both worlds, not if he wanted to keep Lucy safe and be an exceptional operative. There was no choice here.

There was only duty.

Cursed, ugly, soul-decaying duty.

And God help him, he was enough of a patriot to succumb to it. He had just enough honor to keep his word to king and country.

But how he would manage to function without his heart would remain to be seen.

Lucy stirred against him, and Hunter closed his eyes at the flash of pain. She was waking up, which meant they would have to go soon. This was the end, and he would rather be shot, stabbed, or strangled than face this.

But no one was going to oblige him with the physical torment, leaving him cold and empty as Lucy pushed against him, sitting up.

He watched her blankly as she stretched and rubbed her eyes, tucking his feelings away in the deep cavern that had formed within his chest. He would not be distant if he could help it, but he had to remove what he could in order to survive, and in order to encourage her to leave.

Encourage. He wanted very much to do the opposite. He wanted to beg her to run away with him and hide from her father and the world for the rest of their lives, to hell with the consequences. They could figure something out. They were both resourceful enough to do that, and she was resilient enough to adapt to whatever life they chose.

But he wouldn't let her do that.

Couldn't.

Lucy sighed at the dawn and turned to smile at him, the sleepy bliss in her features stabbing him directly in the heart. "Good morning."

He tried to smile. "Good morning."

Her eyes darted around his features, her lips falling from their pleasant curve. "What is it?"

Hunter stared at her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper from the night before and handed it to her.

She took it at once and unfolded it, reading quickly. Her breathing stilled and the color from her cheeks began to fade. "You've found him."

"Yes," he managed to grunt.

Her throat bobbed. "When did you get this?"

He could lie. He could tell her it had just come. He could…

"Just before the opera," he admitted, his throat feeling raw.

She nodded once. "Thank you for letting me have last evening without this. It was very kind." She crumpled the paper again and looked away, her hair streaming in the morning breeze and making his fingers tingle with the temptation to run his hands through their locks one more time, just as he'd done all night.

But there would be no more of that.

"Should we go?" Lucy asked in a tiny voice, tears evident in every word.

If hell could have swallowed him whole, he would have felt less pain. "Yes," he said, against all inclination. "We probably should."

They rose, and Hunter took his coat from the ground, sliding his arms back into it. It still smelled of the free-flowing ale from their Irish friends the night before, bringing back with it the memories of dancing and laughing with Lucy. Of kissing her until he thought his soul would burst. Of believing his life could embrace her just as his arms did.

He forced himself to inhale the stale morning air of St. Giles as he began to walk towards Camden Town, Lucy a half step behind him. He didn't look back at her and refused to do so unless the situation called for it. Now he only had to return her home, and then she would be out of his life and his care. He would have no more responsibility for her, and he could return his focus to finding Martin and discovering what he was doing with the money he was raking in from the gaming dens.

Wasn't that more important than his own happiness?

Neither of them said a word as they passed out of St. Giles and into slightly more respectable neighborhoods. It was only two miles or so to Camden Town, and at this time of morning, it was an easy enough trip to make. But each step was weighed down, and he wondered if it was evident in his pace that he was making no haste with this part.

Every now and then, he could hear Lucy sniffle behind him.

Gads, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away those tears.

But his feet kept moving forward, and only when her shoulder brushed against his did he actually feel himself take a breath. She nuzzled against him very slightly as they walked, and he let his fingers graze against hers. She didn't reach for him, and he did the same. These passing touches they were stealing would be the last, and they both knew it.

"I'll miss you," he heard her whisper.

"And I you," he let himself reply, though his voice felt strained and taut. "Will you… will you let me know if there is a problem with your father?"

"How?" Lucy asked, looking across the street. "How would I even find you?"

How, indeed.

Did he dare give her this path to him? Or should he sever all things now?

"Meyer," he ground out, clinging to his last hope. "If you need me, write to Meyer. Use my code name. He'll get it to me."

"Need," Lucy repeated softly. "What about want?"

Hellfire, brimstone, and all the damnation…

His fingers brushed against hers again, and this time she gasped. He, meanwhile, only burned.

And then they were there. The house was before them, and he was stepping forward to knock, every motion feeling foreign and strange, as though his body were no longer his own.

A man answered the door who was certainly not Mr. Allred, but he recognized Lucy at once. "Miss Allred! You've… found us?"

"Pond? What are you doing as butler?" she asked with a small step forward.

Pond looked behind him, his white hair neatly combed back, before leaning closer. "Retrenchment is not going well, miss. The staff is down to me, Cook, and Betsy."

"Where is Mr. Allred?" Hunter asked with all due politeness, having a decent feeling about this man that he could not say for her father.

Pond looked at him without emotion or even suspicion. "Out, sir. Doesn't usually return home until eleven. He's been in a right state these last few days."

"Because Miss Allred was missing?" Hunter offered wryly.

Pond pursed his lips slightly. "That's just it, sir. He told us to prepare for her arrival the other day, and then said nothing when you didn't arrive, miss. He asked for messages regularly, but nothing came, which bothered him. But he never called for a magistrate or Bow Street, never said anything to any of us about where you could be or that you had changed your mind… It's all been very strange, and his late-night meetings are only making him more discouraged."

"He's not usually discouraged," Lucy muttered to Hunter. "Only motivated in one direction or the other."

Pond nodded in agreement.

Hunter didn't like it. He did not like it one bit, but what could be done?

He turned to Lucy and swallowed, bowing slightly to hide his eyes. "Welcome home, Miss Allred. It's been a pleasure."

Lucy inhaled sharply, then bobbed a curtsy he could only half see. "Thank you, Trick. For everything." She put a shaking hand on his arm, squeezing weakly.

He covered her hand with his own, just for a moment, feeling as though she were squeezing his heart one last time.

Then she was gone, moving into the house behind Pond.

Hunter ignored the screaming pain in his throat and gave Pond a serious look. "You'll keep an eye on her?"

Pond nodded firmly, his eyes far too knowing. "I will, sir. Like she was my own daughter."

"You're rather accommodating for a man who has never met me and works for a man who isn't concerned about his daughter's whereabouts," Hunter pointed out as he fought the tension in his throat.

"I'm too old to start over somewhere else," Pond said with a shrug, "and I like Miss Lucy too much to leave her alone. The way I see it, if she is being safely returned home by you, then we are on the same side."

Hunter held out a hand to him. "If you need me, Pond, here's what you do: step outside this house and whistle in three short bursts. Someone will show up, and you tell them you need Trick. Use the code word ‘Dawn.' They will find me, and I will get here."

"Are you setting a watch, sir?" Pond inquired in a much lower voice as he shook his hand. "For Miss Lucy?"

"Yes," Hunter said bluntly. "I don't trust Mr. Allred, and I have a bad feeling. Do you object?"

Immediately, Pond shook his head. "No, sir. I'm relieved, as it happens. I hope I don't need you, but I am grateful for your instincts." He shook his hand one more time and turned back for the house, closing the door behind him without looking back.

Hunter stared at the door for a long moment, losing all sense of feeling for his body. There was nothing there anymore. Yet he was still alive and aware of a few things. The sounds of the high street on the next block. The smell of bread and horses and cooking poultry. The breeze against his face.

But not his feet. Not his fingers. Not his heart.

Not even his head.

Somehow, he managed to turn and walk away, his eyes burning and dry, every step a slog as he moved back towards the darker slums of his world and away from the light that was Lucy.

He wandered down towards the old London League offices, which had been closed up and moved since the entire Martin case had taken place. Back when they'd only known him as One and thought he'd been captured. Before Mist and Mirrors had uncovered the deadly truth that One was Martin, and that Martin was a traitor.

He didn't know where the new offices were, but he stared at the old ones as though he might find some answers there. Not necessarily about Martin, though he'd been through the building at least a dozen times already for clues in that regard. No, now he was simply looking at the place for answers about Lucy. How was he supposed to help her when he didn't know what the problem was? How could he keep her safe when the danger was an unknown? How could he keep thinking about her when his place was somewhere else?

"You're fairly far afield, aren't you?"

Hunter slumped against the building behind him and looked at the approaching figure of Gent without emotion. Gent was a bit of a legend in London, both for his heroic tendencies and his network of child assets, who provided some of the best intelligence on various people and subjects to be found anywhere. He was one of the most senior members of the London League. And it had been a few years since Hunter had enjoyed contact with him.

He wished he hadn't had cause today.

"Probably," Hunter admitted as Gent joined him along the wall. "But I'm widening my sphere these days, whether I want to or not."

"That doesn't sound like you. What brought you here, of all places?"

Hunter's mouth lifted in a humorless smile. "Subconsciously looking for you, I suppose."

"Me?"

Hunter glanced over, finding satisfaction in the widening of his colleague's eyes. "You. I need to borrow a pair of your sharpest eyes."

"For…?" Gent prodded, gesturing faintly. At Hunter's hesitation, Gent's brows snapped down. "This isn't for an assignment, is it?"

Hunter shook his head. "I don't know what it's for. It's a feeling… All of it is because of feelings, but I have a particular feeling that…"

"A woman you love is in trouble, eh?"

Hunter jerked and stared at him in shock. "How the devil…?"

Gent chuckled. "I practically invented the thing. I watched mine myself, most of the time, which I do not recommend, though it worked out for me. So tell me the issue, and I'll give you some eyes."

Quickly, without excessive detail, Hunter told Gent about Lucy's situation and what he knew so far, and when Gent's expression turned calculating, he knew his instincts were not as far afield as his wandering had been. Gent was as seasoned an operative as anyone Hunter knew, and if he was seeing the trouble, it must truly be there. It was no longer something Hunter could blame on his love for Lucy.

It was a real threat.

"Dawn, eh?" Gent finally said with a smile after Hunter told him the signal. "Nice touch. Lucy means light, light and dawn… Hearing ‘Dawn' means she's in trouble. I'll get you eyes, easy enough. Camden Town is a good place for hiding, there's no mistake about that. And I'll have my eyes get word right to you instead of me. No sense in getting in the middle. But if you need help, you know we're here."

Hunter nodded, grunting once. "I already had to use Trace this week. I'm going to be indebted to the League pretty soon."

"Well, you're related to Rook by marriage, so we'll give you this one out of sympathy." Gent clapped him on the arm and pushed off the wall. "I'm seeing your sister next. I'll give her your best."

Hunter's throat clenched. "Tell her, will you? Not about the trouble but tell her… tell her I got Lucy home."

Gent tapped his cap and nodded in understanding. "There's a way through, you know. If you can find it. I did." He turned away and disappeared down a side alley.

Hunter supposed that was his cue to leave, and he went in the opposite direction, content with knowing that word would now get to Hal without him having to voice it aloud. She would know what it meant to him that Lucy was gone, and she would have been sympathetic and concerned for him, which would only have broken him further. He didn't want emotion and sympathy and comfort; he wanted distraction.

He wanted to expel this torment in some way that wouldn't be destructive to himself or anyone else. A boxing session, if he could find one of his combat contacts. Some gaming would work as well, though it was so early in the day that he doubted anything would be available to him. He could go back to Ye Olde Wharf and talk to Meyer about suspicious activity there again, but going there would remind him of Lucy, and thus defeat the entire purpose.

There was always Briar. Their meeting the other night had been very useful, as they had compared notes about the usage on the docks. She was having some of the same issues on her side as he was on his, and it would probably do him some good to cross over for a few weeks and explore his options there. But with knowing Martin was spending more time on the north side of the Thames at the gaming tables than he was on the south, something kept him from making that crossover. Besides, Briar might take it personally if he interfered there. She had her own players to deal with, and her own assignment.

Martin was his, and Martin needed to be his focus.

Without anything specific to do, he wandered the streets in the direction of the Black Dolphin. He could at least get himself a drink and collect some gossip there, given his connection with the proprietor. And he might find Gus or one of his other assets who had been encouraged to continue patrolling the dens and clubs on their own while reporting back to him. He hadn't exactly been around for them to report to, but they could have found him if necessary.

That was what he'd told himself, at any rate.

Hunter tsked as he realized he'd also have to go back to Tilda and return his clothes, as well as give her an address for where to send the things she had created for Lucy. It was closer to do that before heading to the Black Dolphin, so he turned up the next block and walked with a bit more determination.

Tilda would ask no questions of him; she was used to the way of things in this world. She might make some stinging comments, but nothing he hadn't already thought himself, and she would know nothing was his fault. She might even take pity on him, but only for a few moments. Then she'd likely tell him to leave her alone so she could get back to work, and everything would return to normal.

He would like normal.

He saw Willow outside of the theatre and waved at her a little. By the slight way she cocked her head after the wave, he knew the lack of Lucy by his side had not gone unnoticed.

"Is Tilda inside?" he asked by way of greeting, choosing to completely ignore the question she hadn't asked.

"Yes," Willow replied softly, her eyes showing too much understanding. "She wants to talk to you about her seats last night."

Hunter shrugged slowly. "Not my fault, but all right." He plucked at his shirt. "Usual place for clothing drop-off?"

Willow nodded and pointed the way. "Your clothes are where you left them. Thank you for not tossing them around like some of the others do."

"I would never," Hunter assured her with a smile he did not feel. "Until next time, Willow." He nodded and moved into the building, ignoring the way the conversation made him feel.

Stiff, uncomfortable, false, secretive… None of those things were him.

Well, all right, he was secretive, but he didn't usually avoid specific topics with such a wide berth.

He moved first to the room in which he had changed the night before, pretending weakly that he had simply been there for another mission and doing his best to remove all images of Lucy from his mind and memories. Just for now. Just while he was here. He wanted to remember everything about her, just not here and not in this moment.

Once he was back in his own clothing, and he had deposited his costume for the laundress, he went in search of Tilda.

He did not have to search long.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY RUINING MY SPECIAL BOX?" she bellowed the moment she caught sight of him in the corridor.

Hunter had heard Tilda yell before and knew her mood was as flexible as her fingers, so he only raised his brows at her before calmly replying, "Did I ruin something? I only remember someone coming after me for using those seats and having to run into the night."

As he'd suspected, Tilda immediately smiled and strode towards him. "Dear boy, I am dreadfully sorry for that. I've spoken with the necessary authorities, and it will not happen again."

Hunter nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, but I don't believe I'll have need of the box again."

Tilda's eyes narrowed, and she glanced around quickly before coming back to him. "You are alone."

"I am." He took the slip of paper with Lucy's address on it from his pocket and handed it to her. "You can send her carpet bag and anything else you have here."

Tilda took the paper without looking at it, keeping her attention on him. "Do you need a drink, dear?"

"Probably," he answered bluntly, leaning one shoulder against the corridor wall. "Might not be able to stop easily, but I won't say no to one or two glasses of gin."

Patting his arm, Tilda nodded quickly and gestured with two fingers for him to follow her. They walked three doors down and she entered, going directly for the sideboard as Hunter followed behind. She pulled out a clear bottle and two small glasses, setting them all on the top.

"I only give this to my favorites, you know," she told him as she uncorked the bottle and poured some into the glasses.

Hunter smirked a little. "Lies," he countered blandly. "You gave some to Rook not a fortnight ago."

Tilda turned to him, aghast by all appearances, then broke into a smile and shrugged a shoulder. "He brought me a new contact for silks in Paris. That is worth some gin." She set the bottle down and handed one of the glasses to him before picking up the other for herself.

"Cheers," she said, clinking their glasses and downing the entire contents in one go.

Hunter downed his in two, not wanting to give the impression that he was that desperate to forget.

"I really am sorry about the seats," Tilda murmured as she took his glass from him and filled it again. "Did she have a good time otherwise?"

He appreciated that she wasn't using Lucy's name. It was as though she knew it would sting worse to hear her name, little as that made sense. Memories of her at all would sting, but her name…

Her name would be another blade thrust into his soul.

"She did," he managed to admit. "And don't be sorry. We found ourselves in a cèilidh in St. Giles because of it. The O'Keefes, do you know them?"

Tilda shook her head, smiling brightly as she handed him back the glass. "I do not, but I adore a good cèilidh . I trust she had never seen anything like it."

Hunter shook his head. "No. It became a memorable night, and very sweet."

"In that case," Tilda mused softly, clinking her glass to his again, " sláinte ."

" Sláinte ," he replied, downing his gin in two gulps once more, taking comfort in the soothing burn down his throat and into his chest. It wasn't quite the pleasurable warmth that being with Lucy gave him, and certainly couldn't hold a candle to the fire that had engulfed him as he'd kissed her last night, but it served as a hearty preoccupation for his thoughts.

He set his glass down on the sideboard, clearing his throat. "If you happen to hear the word ‘Dawn' in the next few weeks, send for me. It's probably nothing, but just in case."

Tilda gave him a scolding look, cradling her unfinished gin. "It's never nothing with you lot, and especially with you. But I will keep an ear out."

"Thank you, Tilda." He smiled with genuine gratitude, in spite of his present torment, and started for the door. "If you ever find some good tartan, I'll take you to the next cèilidh myself."

"Don't make me promises, Trick," she called. "I always collect."

He glanced over his shoulder and tipped the brim of his cap. "Good day, Tilda." And with that, he left the room, striding down the corridor, and soon, out into London, praying he might find some solace in the days ahead, and that, crave her though he might, Lucy would not need him.

But still want him.