6. Chapter 6

Chapter si x

Days later, Rowland could still feel Iris’s body close to his. He could still see her eyelids growing heavy as she gazed at him, her long lashes nearly touching her pale cheek. And he could still hear her rebuke ringing in his ears. What stuck with him most of all was the story she told him about her and Sybil. It showed him that she was unlike most of the women of her station. To befriend a lady’s maid, enough that her children called her “auntie” was unheard of. But after hearing about what happened, he wasn’t all that surprised. A bond existed between the two of them that was deeper than siblings. Because they had chosen each other.

Which was why he thought Sybil was his best bet at getting into Iris’s good graces. It could not be a coincidence that Sybil was the woman he ended up helping that day at the pharmacy. Not when hours later, he would finally meet Iris face to face. If he could convince Sybil he was a good man, perhaps she could sway Lady Iris over to her opinion. Of course, Iris was more aware of who he was and what he did. Sybil had only gotten a hint.

As he walked from his car to his warehouse, he pondered his next move. He didn’t have a real reason to go back to Buckland Hall. It was too soon to expect any update on the money. He was out of excuses for calling on Sybil now that her son was better. And he wasn’t sure how long Iris was staying, so she might have already gone back to Yorkshire. Flicking his spent cigarette aside, he came to a stop at the warehouse door.

A ruckus from within made him stop. Before he could reach for the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing Ezra, his mouth drawn into a tight frown. Rowland’s brow furrowed.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Best come in and see for yourself.”

Chest tight, Rowland followed his brother through. What he saw lit a fire of rage in him. The crates containing the whiskey bound for America were all smashed open, leaving splinters of wood strewn about the floor. The bolts of fabric hiding the hooch were torn to shreds. Rowland crouched to pick up a piece he thought might be salvageable, only to find cigarette burns pressed into it. He didn’t have to search the rest to know they were the same.

Not only would he be out the money he would have earned from selling to clubs at Prohibition prices, he couldn’t even resell the fabric at Jo’s store. He snatched up a piece of crate and hurled it at the wall.

“FUCK!” he bellowed.

“I said the same thing,” Ezra said, lighting a cigarette.

Rowland snatched it out of his hand and took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill him up, stifling his every horrendous thought. Ezra shrugged and got another for himself.

“Was it that Bishop fucker?” Rowland asked.

“Guess he didn’t like our message,” Ezra said.

“Any prisoners?”

“Yep. We caught one of them as they were taking off.”

“Bring him to me.”

“You sure? The boys have got him in the office.”

“Is he talking?”

“No, not a word.”

“Bring him here.”

Ezra walked toward the edge of the warehouse and disappeared behind the door that led to the small office. Rowland surveyed the destruction. He hadn’t had this kind of trouble since the days he was establishing himself in Liverpool. Back then, it was his Crimson Devils against all the other smaller gangs. But they all reported to the Devils now. He wasn’t about to lose what he’d built to some Irish fucker who only wanted Liverpool for a vantage point to help a fight going on back home.

Ezra and Ralph dragged the Bishop Boy over. Fresh blood ran all down his face and seeped into his hair, making the color unrecognizable amongst the red stickiness coating each strand. He put on a brave face though, as Ezra forced him forward and onto his knees.

Rowland whipped his revolver out from under his arm and shot the man in the back of the head. The sound echoed through the vastness of the warehouse. He fell forward and lay limp on the floor. Amidst the ruin he helped create.

Rowland holstered his weapon.

“Get rid of him,” he ordered. “I’m going for a drive to figure out how the fuck we fix this.” He walked back toward the door and barked over his shoulder. “And call off the fucking trucks!”

He clamored into his car and slammed his fists down on the wheel, swearing on an exhale. He was going to have to find this Bishop Goddard and shut him down. Permanently. He turned the engine and drove away, unable to stand the sight of the warehouse any longer.

He didn’t pay much attention to where he was going, he just drove. The streets of Liverpool were second nature to him, as familiar as the faces of his family. Many of his neighbors knew him as well—a couple of them waved as he passed by—but he only acknowledged them with a curt nod. He was in no mood for friendly chit chat today.

He turned the corner, heading toward Jo’s shop, hoping to consult his sister on what to do about Bishop. Until a beautiful blonde in an expensive pink coat caught his eye on the pavement. He knew that proud strut from anywhere. He pulled the car over to the curb.

“Lady Iris!” he called.

She stopped and turned, frowning when she saw him. “What do you want?”

“Climb in. It’s not safe for a woman to walk the streets alone,” he replied.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“You won’t be for long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like the rich girl you are. Get in.”

She rolled her eyes, but complied. Her scent wafted over as she shut the door behind her, something floral and sweet that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it pleased him. More than it should have. He toed the gas and got the car going.

“Where are you off to this morning?” he asked.

“If you must know, I’m doing some research,” she told him.

“Research?”

She nodded. “I was visiting a shelter.”

“A shelter?”

“Yes. I’m hoping to—oh, what do you care?”

“Tell me,” he insisted. “I could use a distraction.”

He felt her eyes on him. “A distraction from what?”

“Business.”

“I suppose I won’t get more of an answer than that?”

He said nothing. Her gaze dropped to her lap.

“I’m hoping to open a shelter in my own area, specifically for women who have been abused and assaulted. So, I’m looking into similar institutions that already exist. Unfortunately, there aren’t any with that sole purpose.”

He couldn’t think about what she told him about her ex-husband or he’d punch something. Luckily, he so admired the notion of what she was doing that it was hard to stay angry at a man who wasn’t there.

“That’s kind of you,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “No snark? You really must be having a bad morning.”

“It was.”

She shifted in her seat. His honesty must have disarmed her.

“Shall I take you back to Sybil’s, then?” he asked.

“No, I was also going to do some shopping,” she answered. “I was hoping to check out your sister’s shop. I’m in need of a new dress and—”

“Can it wait?”

She pursed her lips at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. But can it wait?”

“Why?” she wondered. “Did you have something else planned?”

“Will you come on a drive with me?”

“A drive where?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

“Coming from you, that sounds rather like a threat.”

“You should know by now you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her eyes searched his face, as if waiting for more, but she didn’t push. “All right. A drive then.”

He only nodded and drove on. They sat in silence except for the city sounds around them until they reached the edge of town and brick buildings faded into green foliage. Cobblestone gave way to dirt roads. The haze of smoke and industry cleared out for fresh air.

His mind was hard at work with what to do about his destroyed merchandise. It would cost a fortune to replace, and he couldn’t exactly charge the customer more than the price he originally gave them. It wasn’t their fault a new gang was trying to find footing in his city. He was going to have to eat the cost of a re-ship and then squash Bishop Goddard into the ground.

“I’ve been doing some other research during my visit,” Iris finally said, after what must have been over half an hour. “Into you.”

He hoisted an eyebrow. “Discovered anything interesting?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Imagine my surprise when I looked you up with the War Office, only to find that you’re a decorated war hero.”

He scoffed at the word “hero.” It grated on him every time he heard it. He never thought trudging through muddy trenches and hearing his comrades scream as they bled out was exactly heroic. But they’d pinned a medal on his chest, anyway.

“Considering all the evidence,” Iris went on. “That is, you refuse to take advantage of women. You’re kind to children and people in need. And you served king and country with honor…I’m beginning to think you aren’t nearly as dangerous as you make yourself out to be, Mr. Sinclair.”

He cast a sidelong glance at her. “I killed a man this morning.”

She blinked and drew back. “Is that some sort of joke?”

“No, it’s the cost of my business,” he said, and held his hand out to let her see the dots of blood spatter on the cuff of his sleeve. “See?”

He heard her suck in a breath. She paused for a long moment. “Dare I ask what he did to deserve that?”

“You can ask, but I won’t answer.”

“That’s all the answer I need, then.”

Silence fell between them again. He watched the trees go rushing by.

“Have I frightened you, Lady Iris?”

“No,” she said, looking at him. “I know well enough I have nothing to fear from you.”

He almost smirked. So, it hadn’t changed her opinion of him. She still was not afraid.

“Tell me more about this women’s shelter,” he said, eager to change the subject.

Her eyes widened, incredulous. “You can hardly expect me to share when you’re being evasive!”

“Sure I can.”

“No, I think it’s best if we each mind our own business.”

“My business is personal. I don’t see what’s so personal about your charity efforts.”

“My reasons for it are deeply personal, and I’ve already shared more than I cared to with you.”

“About your ex-husband, you mean?”

“Yes.” She went quiet, folding her arms over her chest and turning away from him. “I’d appreciate it if you forgot I ever said anything.”

“Too late for that. I’ve already looked into him.”

After hearing the story, Rowland tracked down every Lewis Mooring on record. Iris’s ex-husband was an American from New York, who made a fortune with railways. He had returned to America after the divorce. According to a few papers, he had remarried. A woman from his own country this time, as rich as he was, but half his age.

“I’m sorry, you looked into him?” Iris questioned.

“I did. And I must say, he’s a real piece of shit.”

“What gave you that opinion?”

“You did, with your story.”

“Why did you bother looking into him at all?”

“Had to make sure he’s not a returning piece of shit.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Believe me, there’s nothing to worry about there. He was as miserable in our marriage as I was. He only refused to leave me out of pride. And he wanted…never mind.”

“Tell me,” Rowland pressed.

“No. We’re minding our own business, remember?”

“Fuck that, I want to know.”

“All right. I’ll tell you on the condition that you tell me why you killed a man this morning.”

“Deal.”

“You go first.”

“No, you first.”

“How do I know you’ll actually tell me?” she demanded.

“I’m a man of my word, Lady Iris.”

“Oh, very well,” she sighed. “I want to create this shelter because my ex-husband was cruel to me. As I told you the other day, he struck me for the first time while we were aboard Titanic , but he’d come close before that. And he never hesitated to push me, grab me, or throw things at me. After the first few incidents, I began keeping things I valued hidden away so he couldn’t destroy them in one of his tantrums.”

“What made him that angry all the time?”

She didn’t answer for so long that he glanced sidelong at her, to make sure she wasn’t about to back out of their agreement. She swallowed. Hard enough that he could hear it. Whatever it was had stayed with her all these years later.

“I couldn’t get pregnant,” she said. “And he hated me for it.”

Rowland looked back out at the road, at a complete loss for words. He’d never been married or even thought much about children—other than his niece and nephews—so he wasn’t sure how he’d feel in that situation, but he knew one thing. He could never hate his wife for that, especially if his wife was Iris.

He cleared his throat. “Like I said. Piece of shit.”

He swore he heard her chuckle. “Now you go.”

“I killed that man because he robbed me,” he said.

And before he knew it, he told her the rest of the story, including what he was really selling in those crates. Talking to Iris, the edge of his anger eroded away.