Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

F itz continued to gawk in shock at the woman standing in front of him.

"It's whiskey," he said, finally regaining his composure as she stood in front of him, her chest heaving. "It might kill me eventually, but not today."

"No, it's not that." She shook her head. "It's poisoned."

"You poured it!" he couldn't help but exclaim, standing as he suddenly felt the need to take control of this situation.

"I know," she said, taking another shuddering breath as a tear leaked out of her eye and she quickly wiped it away, smearing the face paint beneath it. "I should never have been so tempted."

Fitz took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I suggest you tell me the full story of what is happening."

"Very well," Madeline said, rocking back and forth from her heels to her toes. "I do not tell many people this, but I have a child. A daughter."

Fitz started in surprise. He had known her for some time and had never heard this before. "I see."

"I don't know who the father is. Don't worry, I had her long before I met you. I raised her myself and have no family. I pay a woman to watch her while I am working, and it's a struggle."

"I can understand that," he said, sympathetic to her plight but still not understanding what that had to do with this strange situation.

"I was offered a great sum of money to poison your drink."

"By whom?" Fitz asked, astonished.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't asked directly. It was through a note left for me here at the hell with an advance and a promise of the rest once you were dead."

"You were going to kill me? I do hope you are jesting." Fitz began to pace back and forth across the small room, unsure of what to believe at the moment.

"It was a great sum of money," she said, having the courtesy to appear chagrined, at least. "It could take care of my daughter for the rest of her life. But in the end, I couldn't do it."

"How wonderful of you," he intoned, and she dipped her head.

"It was wrong to even consider it, I know. But at least now you know, Fitz, that someone wants you dead."

"Whatever for?" he said, lifting his arms out to the side.

"I have no idea," she said. "I know nothing of your life. But you best be watchful."

"Oh, not to worry," he said. "I will."

He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe this ridiculous story.

She stepped forward toward him, trailing her fingers down his chest seductively.

"Should we go back to where we were?"

"No!" he said, throwing her hand away from him. "I think it is best that you stay far away from me."

Truth be told, he had been forcing himself to follow through on anything with her. Every time she stepped close to him, all he could see was Eliza's face, which caused him no shortage of chagrin. For he should have nothing to do with the woman. He knew that with every bit of his rational thought, and yet, his body didn't seem to understand.

"I'm sorry, Fitz," Madeline said, her face breaking slightly, bringing him back to the present moment. "I never meant to?—"

"Look," he said, holding a finger up toward her. "I'm not entirely sure what you want from me right now. A thank you for not killing me? I am glad that your conscience came through in the end, but at the moment, I am slightly more concerned with the fact that you were, for a time, willing to go through with my demise for a fee. Now, I am going to take my leave. I won't report you to anyone, for which you should be grateful as one word from me could ruin your life. I would not, however, do that to your daughter."

"Thank you," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. Fitz knew he was being hard on her, and understood her pain, and yet, he was more shaken than he'd like to admit that he had nearly died by her hands.

He shook his head as he flung open the door and walked out. Who would possibly want him dead? Yes, there could be political motives, but at this point, he had the desire to make change – he was not yet actually going through the motions to do so. No one would have any more reason to do away with him than any other member of the House of Lords.

Ridiculous.

As he pushed his way through the gaming hell part of the establishment, he avoided eye contact as best he could, not stopping but lifting his hand in greeting anytime he saw a familiar face. He didn't seem to have it within him to make jovial conversation at the moment. Not after the evening he'd had.

The only person he saw was Baxter, sitting near the exit, watching the night's procedures with a smile beneath his mustache.

"Baxter," he nodded to him.

"Where are you off to?" Baxter asked. "I've just arrived."

"I've had enough fun for one night," Fitz grunted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ask Madeline. She's poisonous this evening. Literally."

With that, he stepped through the doors, the London air as crisp and as cool as could be, at least compared to the smoke and aromas that had been inside the hell. He lifted his hand, about to call for a hack, when he decided that the night was nice enough that a walk might clear his head.

He needed to shake loose the weight that had descended upon his shoulders, in the form of seven sisters who would need or soon need husbands, an earldom, his political goals, and a certain green-eyed woman his body refused to ignore.

And now there was this so-called plot to kill him.

He shook his head in disbelief, lifting his gaze to the sky, where the moon shone in a waxing crescent, stars surrounding it. It was so much clearer to view when he was out at his estate, but he seemed to be spending less and less time there as of late. It was hard to participate in politics and marry off sisters from the middle of Essex.

He was so caught up in his musings that he wasn't watching where he was going very carefully. Not that he needed to. The Scarlet Rose was on the edge of Soho, so it hadn't taken him long to cross over Regent Street and into Mayfair, where there was very little risk of being accosted by anyone dangerous. Perhaps the odd street urchin attempting to pick his pocket, but he could take one of the young lads if it came down to it.

Which is why he was caught off guard when he walked right into the man – and into something cold and hard that bit right through his jacket.

"Ow," he said, stepping back and rubbing his chest, staring up at the man in front of him.

Only he didn't just look up. He had to continue to crane his neck as the man stood towering above him.

"If you'll excuse me," Fitz said, attempting to step around him, and it was only then that he realized what he had initially missed in the dark – the object that had struck him in the chest had not done so accidentally. It was a pistol, held out in front of the man, pointed right at Fitz.

"I say," he said with a start. "What are you doing?"

"Keep walking," the man said, his voice low and nearly a grunt. "In between those buildings."

"I think not," Fitz said indignantly, aware that to do so would be signing his own death warrant. "I must say, I am becoming rather annoyed with these attempts on my life. Tell me, who sent you and what is he paying? I'll double it for his name."

He wasn't sure that he would actually be able to do so, but it was worth a try. Better to be without money and alive than in the ground with a fortune left behind above him.

"Can't do that or I'd be dead myself," the man said, shaking his head. "I have no other choice. Would have rather done this where it wouldn't make a mess."

As he slowly raised the pistol, Fitz looked around in some desperation. Surely there had to be some other lost soul wandering Mayfair at this time of night? This couldn't be the end. He still had much to do. Marry off seven sisters. Be a champion for change for those whose voices had been dimmed for far too long.

He only had one choice. He would have to rush the man.

He braced himself, ready to tackle him, knowing that he was likely to be hit by a stray bullet but willing to risk it. With a shout, he launched himself forward just as the man pulled the trigger.

"Well, that was a most interesting event," Eliza's mother said, rambling on as the carriage trundled down the road. Usually, Eliza was just as animated as her mother was in discussing an event they had just left, but tonight felt different.

And she knew exactly why.

Fitz.

Damn the man. The truth – one she had never shared with another person, not even Siena, her closest friend in the entire world – was that she had always had something of a penchant for him. It was not a sentiment of her choosing. It was as though her body was drawn to him on its own, despite all of her protestations that would have liked it to be otherwise.

Their dance had only made her confusion all the greater. It had reminded her of how frustrating he could be and further served to make her want him all the more.

They were like oil and water – made of the same state, but when they tried to mix, as close as they came to each other, they were always repelled away, unable to truly combine.

Maybe it would have been different, had he not done what he had.

But the past could not be changed, no matter how much she would like it to be, no matter how polite they had been to one another at Greystone. They had friends and family in common. That was it.

"Are you all right, darling?" her mother asked, finally realizing that her conversation had become a soliloquy.

"Fine," Eliza said, forcing a smile for her mother. She truly was the best mother Eliza could ever have asked for. She thought of Siena's parents and shuddered, knowing just what her life could have been like had she been born to others not so understanding. "I'm just tired."

"We did stay far too late, didn't we?" her mother said with a sigh. "Your father will be up waiting for us, wondering where we have gotten to."

Eliza's father preferred not to accompany them to such events unless it was an occasion of some importance that he would be expected to attend. He was far more of a bookish man, quiet and reserved – so unlike Eliza's mother. Yet, somehow, they were far better suited to one another than most couples of their station. They had made it work, which was all Eliza could ever ask for herself.

"I do wish I knew where Baxter had gotten to," her mother said, appearing somewhat perturbed now. "He was supposed to accompany us home."

"He left even before we did," Eliza said, rolling her eyes. "I believe his night was not yet over."

Her mother harrumphed, which said far more than her words ever could. Eliza knew her mother didn't approve of Baxter's life after dark, but he was far too old for her to tell him what to do – not that she ever had before, which might be part of the problem.

Suddenly a bump surprised them as they both jumped, jostled in their seats. They stared at one another for a moment before Eliza's curiosity overtook her and she craned her head out the window while her mother called out to her.

"Eliza! Come back in!"

"There is someone out there," she responded as the driver glanced over his shoulder.

"Apologies, my lady, I tried to stop the horses too abruptly when I saw people in the road ahead. We're slowing now."

Eliza peered into the darkness, trying to make out who it was and what she was seeing. The streets were otherwise deserted, but she could have sworn that was Fitz in front of them – unless he had become so ingrained in her thoughts that she was seeing him everywhere.

He stood to the side closest to the buildings behind him, and another, much larger man was next to him, holding something out toward him.

Just then light glinted off the object between them, and Eliza gasped as she realized what it was – a pistol. Pointed at Fitz. It was him. She was sure of it.

"Keep going!" she called to the driver.

"But—"

"He's going to kill Fitz!" she exclaimed. "Keep going."

The driver didn't question her, knowing exactly who Fitz was and his ties to the family. He snapped the reins, urged the horses on, and, despite the object in their path, they continued forward.

The man looked up at the last moment, his gun discharging as he tried to jump out of the way, missing the horses but not the wheel of the carriage.

Eliza looked back as the carriage continued forward, only to see both men lying on the ground.

And with them, Eliza's heart.