Chapter 33

33

“Here, Rusty. I pilfered some goodies from the kitchen for you.” Philip set down a bowl of raw chicken scraps, beef liver, and an uncooked soupbone.

Rusty nosed the bowl, then shot Philip an insulted look.

“I know. Not as fun without the hunt, is it?” Philip hunkered beside the wolf and rubbed his ears. “That’s city life, I’m afraid. If you want to stay with Letty, you’ll have to get used to it. For a while, anyway.” Philip nudged the bowl back toward Rusty and breathed easier when the wolf started picking at the meat.

Philip gave him a final pat, then straightened, his gaze immediately finding the upstairs window he knew belonged to Letty. He longed to catch a glimpse of her, but she probably wasn’t even in her room. Stefan Anderson had arrived an hour ago, so she was likely ensconced with the lawyer in the study, going over the will. The will Letty would sign tomorrow. On her birthday. Making her one of the wealthiest women in the state.

He clenched his jaw, fighting down the acidic taste of unworthiness that burned his throat. The changes had already begun. He’d seen her briefly this morning and shooed her out of the garden and back into the house when she’d come outside to see Rusty. She’d been dressed in a stunning green dress cut in the latest fashion. Her hair had been put up in a simple style, but not as simple as the braid he’d gotten used to seeing her wear on their travels. Her smile had been the same, though, her eyes, too, and for a moment the stylish trappings she wore ceased to matter. Then he’d gone and ruined things by scolding her for coming outside. He hadn’t even bid her a good morning first. He’d apologized afterward and promised to tend to Rusty for her, but the light in her eyes had dimmed by then—whether from his highhanded orders or from the reminder that her life was still in danger. Either way, she pulled away from him and disappeared back into the house. It was where she needed to be for her own safety, yet his heart cracked at being the one to separate her from her closest friend.

He’d tried telling himself that being a bit testy was to be expected. He hadn’t slept well, after all. And not just because he’d been keeping watch and making rounds every few hours. The room itself had made him itch with all its richness. His chamber was likely the humblest room in the home outside the servants’ quarters, yet it was finer than any place he’d ever stayed. Handcrafted furnishings that his salary could never afford. Walls papered in intricate designs, sumptuous rugs that made him self-conscious about where his boots had been, and a gilt-framed mirror that magnified how well he didn’t fit in with his surroundings. It epitomized the gulf between him and the Radcliffes. The gulf between him and Letty.

Enough with the maudlin thoughts , Carmichael. You got a job to do . Letty deserves the best possible future , whether with you or without. But she’s got to live past tomorrow first.

Setting his jaw, Philip began making his rounds. Checking the fence for any weaknesses that could be exploited as an entry point, looking for footprints in the dirt beneath the perfectly trimmed hedges, testing the windows on the main floor to ensure they remained locked.

A scrape in the paint near a window on the south side of the house facing the street had him leaning closer to investigate. He didn’t remember seeing such a mark last night when he’d checked the perimeter, but it had been dark, so he might have missed it. Or he hadn’t missed it, and this was evidence that someone had tried to gain entry to the house by tampering with a window. Rusty would have barked an alarm had anyone entered the gardens at the back of the house, but this window faced the stables and led to the housekeeper’s chamber, if he remembered correctly.

A gravel path stretched along the side of the house, hiding any footprints that might have been left behind, but his gut told him someone had been here. Could still be here. Heart thumping, Philip tried the window. Locked. Thank God. Whoever it was hadn’t found a way in. At least not there. But if Drake Radcliffe’s henchman knew Letty was inside, he’d try again. The bounty on her head would inspire persistence. But how had they figured out she was here? No one had followed the unmarked carriage into town last night. He’d made sure of it. They’d brought Letty in through the rear just in case anyone watched from the street, and Philip hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. No footfalls or hoofbeats of someone rushing off to report an unusual arrival at Leah Radcliffe’s home. Probably because Leah Radcliffe had hired a pair of her larger male employees to walk down her street every evening for the last month, rousting any would-be loiterers from their shadowed corners to ensure no one spied on her nighttime comings and goings. Rather impressive ingenuity. Cleverness apparently ran in the family.

At least on the female side. Philip frowned. What if someone had followed Stefan? The man had driven here in a buggy, exposed to public view. Anyone could have seen him and followed at a distance, hiding amid the normal city traffic until deriving the man’s destination. He could have sneaked back on foot, waited for Philip to disappear into the back gardens with Rusty, then started searching for an entry point.

Philip’s gut turned to granite as he shifted his mind from that of a man trying to protect a house, to that of one trying to break in. He tilted his chin upward. If the ground floor was locked down, only one option remained. An upper floor. Preferably an unused room where breaking glass would not be heard.

The dormer windows of the attic.

He sprinted around to the front of the house, backed toward the street to get a better vantage point, and peered up at the pair of small dormers projecting from the sloped roof. One of the hinged windows on the right side had been cranked open. The intruder must have gained the roof from the side of the house, then made his way to the front.

Philip’s mind spun with scenarios as he bounded toward the front door. Speed would be of the essence. The man would know that Philip could reenter the house at any time. He’d search the main rooms. Parlor, sitting room, study. Locate the target and charge into the room, taking the occupants by surprise. He’d shoot Anderson first in case he was armed, then Letty. Mrs. Radcliffe could be a third victim or be used as a shield, depending on what would allow him the cleanest escape.

Forcing himself to slow just enough to keep his boots quiet on the porch, Philip reached into his trouser pocket for the key Letty’s mother had given him. He fit it into the lock and let himself in, keeping his weight on the balls of his feet to soften his footsteps. He drew his gun as he scanned the staircase for the intruder. Seeing no one, he took the passage to the right and hurried toward the study. A glimpse of someone rounding the corner at the end of the hall spurred Philip into an all-out run. But he knew he’d not get there in time. So he did the only thing he could think of. He shouted at the top of his voice to let the intruder know he was on his trail, then shot a round into the crown molding at the top of the wall at the end of the passageway, praying instinct would propel Letty and the others to take cover.

****

It felt strange to read one’s own will, but Letty had insisted upon going over every word after Uncle Stefan made the one revision she’d requested. Leaning back in the padded armchair near the lamp, she scanned the first page while Mama and Uncle Stefan chatted quietly together on the settee.

Letty had agreed with the beneficiaries the two of them had selected for her, but she’d insisted on adding her mother’s name to the trust fund list ahead of the charities. Mama could give all the money away to charity if she wished, but Letty wanted to give her the option to reinvest funds back into her business or set up a trust for children injured in factory work or whatever else she deemed worthy. It had taken some convincing, but Mama finally relented.

Letty smiled as she read over the new section. Mama had gotten so excited by the idea of the children’s trust Letty suggested that the will discussion had detoured for a good twenty minutes while Mama and Uncle Stefan discussed what would be involved in establishing such a charity. Letty listened with great interest and asked a handful of questions herself. She had so much to learn about how to handle her money responsibly, even if she had no desire to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Whenever she contemplated running her own company, the notion pressed down on her like a collapsing roof, trapping her and making her desperate to escape. Her heart longed to return to country living and simple satisfactions. At the same time, she had a duty to be a good steward of her inheritance, just like Grandmother had taught her. To use the money to help people. Starting with a particular Pinkerton and his dream of establishing a school for troubled boys.

A muffled thumping from somewhere outside the closed study door pulled Letty’s attention away from her reading. Her eyebrows scrunched as she looked up. “Do you hear—”

A shout echoed from beyond the side wall, cutting off her words. Mama’s eyes widened as Uncle Stefan reached inside his coat. Then a gunshot exploded, and Letty swore she could feel the percussion of it vibrate through her chest.

Mama screamed Letty’s name and lunged for her. Papers scattered. The chair tipped. Letty toppled to the floor as her mother covered her with her body. Something banged into the study door, rattling the sconce on the wall, but the door didn’t open. Strange since it had no lock. All the villain had to do was turn the knob to enter. But he didn’t.

“Get her under the desk.” Her uncle yelled the command as he pulled a small pocket pistol from his coat and planted himself in front of the closed door.

Mama lifted herself off Letty and tugged on her arm. “Come!”

Together, they scurried to the far side of the desk and crawled into the opening. They clung to each other with Letty’s face pressed against her mother’s chest. Whispered words filled her ears as Mama repeated a promise Letty recognized from the Psalms. “‘The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped.’ ‘The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped.’ ‘The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped.’”

Letty’s heart throbbed. Her fingers fisted in the fabric of Mama’s dress. Yet the more seconds that ticked by without the study being breached, the more her fear shifted away from herself and onto Philip. She could think of only one reason an intruder would shoot before reaching his target—to escape whoever chased him.

A second shot rang out, and Philip’s name tore from her soul in an agonized moan. She tried to free herself from her mother’s grasp and crawl out from beneath the desk to lend whatever aid she could to the man she loved, but her mother’s grip tightened, and the confined space made escape impossible.

“It’s all right. He’s doing his job.”

But it wasn’t just a job. It was his life. And if he lost it defending her...

God, protect him. Please!