Chapter Sixteen

Early light seeped through the curtains the next morning, casting a soft glow over Catamount's flat. For a moment, she listened to the deep, rhythmic breathing next to her, loving the sound. Smiling to herself as she gently slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb her sleeping detective, she padded into the huge kitchen wearing only her shift that she'd grabbed from the floor on her way.

The aroma of black tea filled the air as she found a jar and opened it. A kettle perched on the stove nearby, and the soft hiss of the flame sounded as she lit it. Odette wound around her ankles, a comforting presence in the silent room. "Ah, mon ami , look at the two of us. Temporarily homeless, we are. What shall we do about these blasted Revivalists so that we can get our home and shop back?" she mused, bending down to stroke the kitten's fluffy fur. Odette purred in response and stretched into her hand, seeming to not mind her fancy new surroundings.

Juliette poured hot water into the waiting teapot, the fragrant leaves unfurling as they steeped. As the room filled with the soothing aroma, she settled into a chair, cradling her cup in her hands. "They think they can terrorize me. Non , they cannot," she whispered to Odette, who blinked up at her with curious eyes. "I am made of stronger character than that."

Juliette's mind raced with ideas on how to capture the murdering madmen, each plan more daring and outrageous than the last. If she was serious about catching them and putting an end to all this, then she needed to outwit the Revivalists, to turn the tables on those who sought to plunge her world into oblivion. But could she? Could she really do it?

Could she, Juliette Toussaint, mere modiste, plot against the Revivalists?

Her. Not Catamount, though his presence was a godsend. Not the Bow Street Runners. Not anyone but her.

She glanced toward her bedchamber door to where Catamount slept in the bed beyond. The protection he offered fueled her resolve, but she knew she needed a plan—something cunning and unexpected. Because Catamount was right—it was personal with the Revivalists. They wanted her and whatever was locked up tight in her mind.

They wanted what she couldn't remember.

Tea in hand, she leaned back, staring out of the kitchen window into the dawn-painted sky. Odette curled up on the windowsill.

"We shall bring them to justice, mon ami , and ensure they rue the day they crossed paths with Juliette Toussaint," she told her feline confidante. The kitten didn't stir. "No? Well, perhaps I'll think on it anyway." Juliette lost herself in thoughts of strategy. The quiet of the early morning cocooned her in a semblance of peace. Yet beneath the tranquil surface lurked the very real threat of the Revivalists.

As she absently stroked her kitten's fur, a sudden, unbidden flood of visions surged through her mind, tearing through the carefully erected barriers she had built to protect herself from such things. The scent of smoke, the distant cries of distress, and the ominous shadows of Seven Dials painted a vivid picture in her mind, overtaking all her senses.

She saw it.

That fateful night when the Revivalists struck—it tormented her mind.

In the kitchen, the clinking of her teacup against the saucer ceased to be heard by her ears, the sound replaced by the ghostly echoes of distant screams.

"No! Please, don't hurt them!" The cry reverberated through the corridors of her memory as she screamed it out loud into the silence of the kitchen. "Stop! Let them go!"

She could feel the rough cobblestone beneath her fingertips, the tremors of fear coursing through her veins as she huddled against the alley wall. The memories, long buried, clawed their way back into her consciousness. Took her by violent, vicious storm. Turned her upside down and inside out.

They hurt .

"Juliette!" A distant voice called her name, calling her back to the present. "Juliette, it's Catamount. Can you hear me? Come on, love." Somewhere she vaguely registered Odette nuzzled against her hand, sensing her distress. "Listen to my voice."

The weight of the past pressed upon her like an unbearable burden, and she slumped against the kitchen table. The cold surface seemed to yank her back into the present, but the darkness and pain of that night clawed at her, threatening to pull her right back under. Ugly, greedy memories, they were.

A soft whimper escaped her lips. " Non , not again," she muttered as she felt them overtaking her mind once more.

"Juliette, what's happening?" Catamount's voice, laden with concern, cut through the painful haze. She could tell he had entered the kitchen—his presence felt solid and strong.

Tears welled in Juliette's eyes as she struggled through visions to find the words. "The Revivalists… They attacked Seven Dials. So much pain, so much blood. I couldn't save them. Oh, Catamount, I couldn't save those people!"

"You're not alone, Juliette. You have me. And you're stronger than you know."

As he wrapped his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace began to chip away at the icy tendrils the past held around her heart and mind. Little Odette, sensing the shift, hopped into her lap and nestled against her, offering her silent support.

Juliette looked up, blinking blurry eyes.

Catamount stood beside her, comforting her in the aftermath of the terrorizing memories more than he could possibly know. His touch on her shoulder was a grounding force. "Julie," he whispered.

Juliette, enveloped in his strong arms, felt a shiver run down her spine at the sound of the endearing name. It held a familiarity, a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Catamount," she replied.

His lips brushed against her forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss, a gesture filled with both comfort and desire. "You don't have to hide from the past anymore," he murmured against her skin, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through her.

She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, drawn into the depths of his pale green eyes. The golden-tipped bronze of his hair caught the soft light filtering through the curtains, giving him an almost angelic glow. Yet his rugged features and the world-weary energy that clung to him spoke of the battles he'd fought on the callous streets of London.

"I don't intend to," she confessed, her eyes locking on to his.

Catamount's lips claimed hers in a deep, drugging kiss. The world outside their embrace seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet breaths they shared. "Let's face all these demons together," he whispered against her lips. "The ones in your head and the ones on the streets."

As Catamount held her close, Juliette noticed the ease with which he cradled her in his arms. There was an undeniable familiarity, a seamless connection that spoke of a deeper understanding between them. Like he navigated the contours of her body with an innate knowledge, a intimacy that went beyond the physical. His touch, strong and sure, seemed to trace invisible lines across her, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. The gentle pressure of his embrace felt like a custom fit, tailored to the curves and angles of her body. It was as if he truly knew her, intimately, down to the very essence of her. His touch, the way he held her, was more than comforting—it was a language of shared history and experiences. The soft press of his lips against her forehead, the gentle caress of his fingers on her skin, all spoke of a connection that transcended the present.

"Julie," he whispered. As Catamount's arms enveloped her, Juliette noticed a subtle shift within herself. The name Julie no longer carried the weight of unfamiliarity; instead, it offered a sense of comfort, a strength that she instinctively leaned into. "Julie," he murmured again, the endearment now a whispered reassurance. In response, she snuggled deeper into his embrace, finding solace in the familiarity of the name and the security of his arms.

"I remember a night, years ago," he began. "We were in the countryside, the air crisp with the scent of autumn. The moonlight spilled across the fields, and you"—he paused, a soft smile playing on his lips—"you laughed like I'd never heard before."

"Tell me," she encouraged him.

"There was a bonfire, and you danced under the stars," he continued, his voice tinged with affection. "You were carefree, untamed. It was a moment etched in my mind—one of those rare instances when the weight of the world seemed to lift."

A wistful smile curved her lips as she listened to the intimate recollection. The lines between the present Juliette and the past Julie blurred momentarily, a glimpse into a life that held shared laughter and stolen moments beneath the vast night sky.

Catamount's arms tightened around her, as if to anchor them both in the present. "I miss that Julie," he admitted, his gaze holding a depth of emotion as he looked down at her. "But I'm grateful for every moment with you, Juliette, whatever memories we may share from now into the future."

***

The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air, enveloping Catamount's flat. The large space, decorated with antique furniture and maps from his past cases, carried an air of rugged charm. Juliette, sitting at the table, observed him with amusement and appreciation as he prepared his own cup.

"So, the fierce detective makes a mean cup of tea," Juliette teased, a playful smile gracing her lips.

He chuckled. "Years of practice. You can't navigate the underbelly of London without mastering the art of tea making. Too many late nights slogging over reports, searching for evidence and clues. Tea keeps you going."

Juliette, sipping her tea, appreciated the juxtaposition of the masculine detective performing domestic tasks. "You're quite the paradox. A hardened detective with a penchant for brewing a comforting cup of tea."

He raised an eyebrow, a spark of humor in his pale green eyes. "Life is full of surprises."

As they settled into their cups of tea, the discussion veered toward the day's plans. He was determined to keep her safe, and proposed her spending the day at Bow Street.

But her priorities lay with salvaging the remnants of her ransacked shop. "I can't spend the day at Bow Street headquarters and just leave my shop in ruins," she protested.

He sighed, clearly recognizing the stubborn resolve in her eyes. "I want you safe. Bow Street is the best place for now. We can deal with the shop later."

She leaned back in the armchair. "What if I jut stay here and promise not to leave your flat for any reason?"

He regarded her for several long, silent moments, exasperation evident. "Christ, you're a handful. Fine, but you better keep that promise."

With a victorious grin, Juliette agreed. The negotiation settled, she again marveled at the hominess of the morning. Like they'd done it a million times already.

After finishing his cup in companionable and easy silence, Catamount stood from the table and prepared to leave for Bow Street. The scent of freshly brewed tea still lingered, as well as the cozy feeling of domesticity. However, unbeknownst to Catamount, a quiet determination burned in Juliette's gut as she watched him ready for the day.

As he fastened the buttons of his crisp shirt, she bit back guilt, knowing that she intended to slip away as soon as he stepped out the door. While musing with Odette earlier over how to catch the Revivalists, she'd had an idea. Now it was urgent that she speak to Catamount's sister Carenza and his sister-in-law Sadie—two people who'd survived their attacks and whom she knew from dressing at her shop. She hoped in talking to them she would find answers and insights into the Revivalist attacks, learn of a weakness she could exploit.

She knew the risk in keeping her plan a secret. Catamount would undoubtedly insist she accompany him to Bow Street if he knew she wished to go seeking answers on her own. But she couldn't help it. After those awful visions, she knew deep down that she needed the wisdom of those who had also endured the Revivalists' brutality before.

As Catamount adjusted the collar of his coat, Juliette feigned a smile, concealing the conflicting emotions that churned beneath her surface. Was it so bad that she wanted to protect him—the man she cared for? Even if he was a detective. After last night and what passed between them, he was also her person. Her love. Seeking knowledge that might help ensure their survival and capture the Revivalists seemed wise to her. A good and right thing to do.

"Off to the office?" she asked, injecting casual cheer into her voice. Once she'd learned what she hoped to from his female relatives, then she'd share with him. But she couldn't learn anything if she stayed locked in his flat all day.

Catamount nodded, the familiar seriousness settling into his features. "Yes, love. I need to check in and see if there are any leads on the Revivalists, report your shop break-in. You'll truly stay here, won't you?"

She tossed him a reassuring smile. "Of course. I'll be right here, safe and sound."

As he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, she forced her thoughts away from the guilt niggling her. He let her go and stepped to the entrance, reaching for the doorknob, ready to step into the day's challenges. "Wait," she called after him.

Her hand shot out, grabbing his with an urgency that halted his departure. He turned to face her, and was met with a sudden, passionate hug. In a whirlwind of emotions, Juliette flung herself into his arms, her lips seeking his in a fervent kiss.

Caught off guard, Catamount rocked back on his, quickly surrendering to the moment, pulling her close as she kissed him hard. For a brief, suspended moment, the danger she was in disappeared. The scent of tea, the soft glow of morning light, and the warmth of their entwined bodies took over her senses. And she reveled in it— needed it. Needed to forget the fear and just be in the moment with the man who made her heart sing.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Catamount's eyes locked on to hers. As he caressed her cheek, a gentle smile played on his lips. "Take care, Julie," he whispered.

Juliette nodded. "You too, Catamount." Why was there a lump in her throat? This wasn't their last parting! Why was she acting like such a ninny?

With a final, lingering glance at her, Catamount stepped out into the day, leaving her heart pounding with the thrill of their stolen moment and the daunting challenges that awaited her.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet flat. She turned toward her tiny companion perched on the windowsill. With a sly smile, she rubbed her hands together, a gesture more reflective of her nerves than any cunning. "All right, my sweet girl," she addressed Odette, who blinked up at her with curiosity. "We've got a plan to hatch and noblewomen to track down."

Odette just kept blinking round eyes at her.

"Fine, I know what you're thinking, and yes, it is a bit underhanded. Perhaps even misleading, not telling him about my true intentions for the day. But it's only temporary, and I will absolutely tell him anything I find out. Anything at all that's relevant. So, you can stop looking at me like that."

Juliette shot the kitten a defensive glance and began pacing around the room. Her mind raced with thoughts and strategies. There was a certain thrill with taking matters into her own hands. Was that how Catamount felt each time he investigated a case?

"I'm going to find those ladies," she declared to Odette. "They've faced the Revivalists before, and I need their wisdom. Catamount might not like it, but it's happening."

She approached the window where the morning light spilled into the room and her kitten sat. "I'll be back before he returns," she assured Odette, gently brushing her fur. "He'll never even know."

But she couldn't stand the silent judgment in her kitten's eyes, so found parchment and hastily scribbled a note. "There. Happy now?"

Odette purred and curled into a tiny ball on the windowsill.

With a final glance around Catamount's flat, Juliette slipped out the door, her guilty heart pounding in her chest.