Chapter 17

seventeen

R OYSTON COULDN'T DENY a hint of excitement before breaking into Angeline's house.

He'd always loved that part of the job— the waiting, sneaking, and planning.

He walked around Angeline's house to the rear, keeping his pace casual not to attract the attention of a patrolling peeler.

An eight-foot-tall brick wall enclosed the back garden. Not a problem though. Back in the days when he'd lived on the streets, he'd climbed walls that high every other day.

He chose the darkest spot in the alleyway to start the climb. The uneven bricks and the thick stems of the English ivy offered enough grip to make the ascent easy. Being over six feet tall helped.

With a push, he hauled himself up and grabbed the top of the wall. Then it was a matter of sheer muscle strength and gravity before he straddled the top and jumped down on the other side. Cup of tea. He wasn't sure if he should be proud or ashamed of his skills. Right now, he didn't give a bloody damn.

The garden didn't offer many hiding places. Only a couple of trees grew in the middle, but at least there weren't any lamps.

He crept on the grass to avoid making noise on the gravel. Opening the set of double French doors was another cup of tea. The lock was nothing special, a cheap thing he could buy at the market for a penny.

He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Angeline's scent lingering in the air was like a punch in the stomach. It was as if she stood next to him.

A warm glow shone from the corridor. A forgotten lamp, perhaps. No one should be home. He paused again. No sound could be heard.

Keeping his scarf over his face and his flat hat low, he stole along the corridor, heading towards the front of the house. The parlour was tucked in a corner between the study and the dining room, almost hidden.

The tools in his satchel made a metallic clink as he went on. He had no intention of ever breaking and entering Mrs. Haywood's house again, so he'd carried everything he might need to open a safe.

He stopped next to the door to the parlour when the sound of light footfalls came. His pulse spiked. He didn't have time to search for a place to hide when a voice stopped him.

"Don't move." It was Angeline. A scared Angeline, judging by her tone. "Don't turn around. I warn you. I have an arrow aimed at your back, and I'm an excellent archer. Raise your hands above your head. Do what I say, and you won't get hurt."

He believed every word she said.

He raised his hands slowly. His only chance to leave the house with all his limbs and pride intact was to run past her and make a dash for the front door. She wouldn't actually shoot him, would she? She wasn't a violent woman.

A swish of fabric came closer. "I don't want trouble. If you leave quietly, I won't call the police."

Every thief would agree just to leave the house with all his limbs attached. He slowly turned around inch by inch, but she got startled and jolted.

"I said don't move!"

She jerked and released the arrow that shot towards him with a snake-like hiss.

He cried out when the sharp arrowhead sliced his upper arm before stabbing the door behind him. Blood soaked his shirtsleeve, and an instant burning throbbed through his flesh.

"Bloody hell!" He clamped a hand on the cut.

He'd been stabbed once, and the pain had been fairly close to this one.

"Oh, my goodness. I didn't mean to shoot. You gave me a fright, and I told you not to turn around…" She lowered the damn bow. "Royston?"

Great. He gritted his teeth and pressed the hand on the wound harder. "What were you thinking? You could have killed me."

"What are you doing here?" She pulled the lapels of her dressing gown closer.

Long story. "Can we discuss the matter another time? I'd rather go home and send for my physician because, you know, I'm bleeding!"

She frowned. "Well, you wouldn't bleed if you hadn't sneaked inside my house or if you'd followed my instructions not to move. What were you doing? Don't make me ask again."

"Or what? Are you going to shoot me again? Kill me this time? Go ahead." He pointed to his chest. "Straight to the heart. Break it."

She parted her lips. "I would never do that."

He was about to protest that his heart was already broken when a loud banging thudded from the front door.

"Hello? Anyone in the house? Open immediately. Police!"

"What?" he and Angeline said together.

"How did you get word to the police?" he whispered.

"How, when? I didn't have time. I was too busy shooting you."

"Yes, very funny."

"Police." Another loud knock caused the door to shake.

Royston nodded towards the door. "You'd better answer before they bring the door down."

She exhaled and threw a hand up. "Bother." She put the bow aside and snatched the arrow from the door. It took her a couple of attempts.

"Police!"

After hiding the bow and the arrow in a closet, she hurried down the corridor towards the front door. From the hook on the wall, she took an afternoon cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Police!" Another loud banging.

"Give me one moment," she said, lighting a gas lamp in the entry hallway.

Royston slid inside the parlour, leaving the door ajar to keep an eye on the corridor. A mirror hanging on the opposite wall offered a clear view of the entrance hall.

If she wanted, she could have him arrested in a moment. He should have told her not to say anything. He'd implicitly trusted her although she might not be as trustworthy as he thought. Now he'd find out if it was a good or a bad assumption.

She inched the door open. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Madam." The peeler removed his hat. "I'm Police Constable Davis, madam. I'm sorry to disturb you, but a man came to the police station, saying this house was being robbed. I came here to make sure everything was all right."

Angeline let out a nervous chuckle. "Good gracious, there must be a mistake."

Royston sagged in relief. A smile fought its way through his grimace of pain.

She waved a hand around. "There's no robbery going on here."

Police Constable Davis craned his neck to look past her. "Do you mind if I have a look around?"

"Actually, I do."

So did Royston.

"Madam, it's possible the thief is hiding in the house and you aren't aware of that. The man who warned us saw a thief breaking through your front window. My presence might have alerted him, forcing him to hide."

No, that wasn't true or possible. No one could have seen Royston breaking in through the front window because he hadn't. Besides, he would never use the front window. He stifled a groan as the wound pulsated.

"My window is intact." Angeline held the door open. "Do you want to take a look?"

Police Constable Davis gripped his baton as he entered the house. Royston inched back into the shadows.

"Everything is in order in the sitting room." Angeline lit more lamps; their warm glow flooded the entry hall. "Nothing amiss."

The constable stuck his head into the sitting room. "I should check the other rooms."

"There's no one in the other rooms. I wasn't asleep. I was reading in my bedroom and didn't hear anything." Her tone sounded high-pitched.

"Madam, I must make sure the thief isn't here."

"Police Constable Davis, I appreciate your concern, but I think the whole robbery thing was a practical joke. No one is here. If a thief had broken into my house, I would have noticed it."

Davis loitered, gazing around.

"And I'm alone with you. Honestly." She held the front door open. "I must ask you to leave, constable, before my mother returns."

"Very well, madam." Davis touched his hat and finally dragged his sorry arse out of the house.

Bugger. Royston exhaled, closing his eyes.

Angeline locked the door and, shedding the cloak on the bannister, hurried to the parlour. "I don't understand. What's happening tonight? You come here and then a police constable shows up."

"The warning about a robbery is a set up. I mean, I'm sure what Davis said is true. Someone went to the police to report a robbery. But no one saw me. I didn't use the front window. No thief worth his salt would ever use the front window under the street lamps."

"This lesson in thievery is fascinating, but I'm afraid I'm more interested in understanding what you're doing here." She pointed to the other side of the corridor. "To the kitchen. I'll clean your wound, and you'll give me answers."

"Fine," he croaked out.

"And don't stain the floor with blood, please. The floorboards get stained easily. Cleaning them is a chore. Be careful on the carpet as well."

"I'll do my best to bleed only where it's appropriate."

She stopped. "I don't particularly like your attitude."

"I don't particularly like being shot."

"You broke into my house and gave me a fright. I've been generous to you. I could have told the constable you were here. I could have shot you again."

He worked his jaw. "Shall we carry on? I'm bleeding. You keep forgetting that."

"By all means." She lit a few lamps in the small kitchen, which smelled of garlic and spices, and offered him a chair.

He sat down on it, wincing as the wound burned.

The cut might need stitches. The bloody arrow had cut through his jacket and shirt and opened a wide gash on his biceps. Even closing his fist hurt.

He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt as she rummaged through the cabinets, which contained a ridiculous amount of labelled jars and pots. Shelves loaded with more glass jars took up an entire corner. It looked like a dispensary.

He groaned when he shrugged off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Her high-pitched tone startled him.

"Undressing myself."

"But…" She clenched a pot for dear life.

"How can you clean my wound if you can't see it?" He removed his bloodstained shirt by grabbing it from his back and pulling it over his head.

Even in the dim light, her fierce blush was evident. "It's just that… oh, fine."

She dragged a chair next to him and focused on the wound, pressing a clean cloth to it.

Her sweet rose scent teased his senses. The soft glow from the lamps suited her. The golden light kissed her cheek and profile, making the tips of her long eyelashes glitter and enhancing her plush lips. Lips he'd kissed. Lips he wanted to kiss again.

She caught him staring and blushed again. "Is that it? All this fuss for a shallow cut?"

He arched his brow. "Shallow? It's half an inch deep."

"Tosh. I get more serious wounds with a paper cut."

He grimaced as she applied a cloth soaked in some stinky liquid. "Blood hell! It bloody hurts."

"I didn't mean to shoot you. The arrow just went off." She cleaned the wound that throbbed and burned like the flames of hell.

"What the hell is in that cloth?"

She tossed him a glare. "A tincture my mother prepared. She's quite skilled with medicinal herbs. Trust me, the wound won't get infected and will heal quickly."

That would explain Mrs. Haywood's interested in drugs, but not why she needed to pay Mr. Wright to buy them. He couldn't hold back a shout as she applied more bloody potion to the wound.

"Dammit."

She clicked her tongue. "The bigger they are, the harder they cry."

A little shiver went down his back when she brushed his skin, and the stinging pain had nothing to do with it.

"I'll admit it was a lucky shot," he said, exhaling, "you could have killed me."

She thankfully removed the stinging gauze. "I will ask again. What are you doing here?" She wrapped a bandage around his arm with snappy gestures.

His guilt soared. "I'm sorry. Coming here was a terrible decision on my part. I made it in a moment of weakness."

He pushed down another curse, not sure about what he should tell her.

Oddly enough, all the good reasons he'd had about breaking into her house seemed hollow now.

"A moment of weakness? You chose this night of all nights, the night when the house was supposed to be empty." She tied the bandage around his arm with surprising kindness.

He pushed down another grunt of pain.

She paused, bringing a finger to her chin and looking quite lovely. Also, she had a nice, pointed chin. "The other time, you ransacked my mother's cabinet?—"

"I didn't ransack it."

"— to take Lord Havisham's documents. Did he send you here? Oh. He sent you here, didn't he?"

Fantastic. He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. "It was my decision."

"Why?"

"Your mother exploits young fallen women for her schemes, and you know that." He huffed. "Are we really going to play the ‘who's the criminal' game?"

She stiffened. "I assure you my mother doesn't exploit any fallen women. That's ridiculous."

He jabbed a finger on the table. "I asked Mrs. Walsh, the woman who runs the women's shelter I finance. She confirmed your mother went there to recruit girls."

"This is absurd. I'm sure my mother would never do that." She tossed a kitchen towel on the counter. "Yes, my mother blackmails her lovers. Yes, it's illegal, but she's never, ever used poor women for her own gain. She isn't that despicable. Believe it or not, she has principles." She gathered her medical supplies, avoiding meeting his gaze.

"I have a witness," he said.

She shook her head. "This story is poppycock. Mama has strong opinions about men, but she would never hurt other women. If anything, you should ask yourself who called the police because it wasn't me, obviously."

Yes, that was a valid point. "Only Lord Havisham knew about my nocturnal excursion. He planned it, actually."

"Excursion. What a nice way to talk about robbery."

"You aren't your mother's accomplice?"

"No, I'm a victim, too." Her voice lowered.

"How?" He was genuinely curious because the possibilities scared him.

She closed a fist on the table. "Do you remember that night in Lady Redvers's house when Mr. North chased me? Well, my mother had made a deal with him for me to spend a night with him. Three thousand pounds for my first night with a man. Mr. North believed you wanted to make an offer on me. Of course, after I poured the content of the vase over him, he decided to lower the offer. One thousand pounds for my virginity."

The shock made him speechless. He went through his memories of that night in Lady Redvers's sitting room when Angeline had barged inside, followed by North. Now his words about the offer made sense.

A surge of sheer, undiluted anger flared up in his chest. "Did you… is the deal… Did he touch you?"

"No."

He exhaled. "He didn't hurt you."

"No, he didn't. But If I'd agreed to the deal with him, I wouldn't have needed to lie with him."

"What do you mean by that?"

She hesitated before answering. "Mama developed a drug that confuses people and fabricates false memories. She planned to give it to Mr. North so I wouldn't need to actually lie with him. He would have only believed he'd spent the night with me."

The pots of drug and Mrs. Haywood's deal with Wright made sense now. "And you believe she isn't capable of exploit fallen women? She drugs people, for crying out loud."

She rubbed her forehead. "I know, but she drugs men, not women. Men are expendable for her. Women aren't."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Did she want to drug me as well?"

"Mama found your two hundred-thousand-pound asset interesting," she said in a low voice, like a confession. "She had plans for you before you stole her file on the earl."

He didn't know what to say. Silence filled the kitchen. Only the soft sizzling of the flames in the lamps could be heard.

She let out a nervous chuckle. "My mother has plans for everyone."

"You must not be happy about her plots," he said in a low tone, sorry that she had to endure men like North because of her mother's plots.

"It's awful. I don't want to be forced into doing anything. All I want is to find a husband and have a family, but Mama disagrees. She says that marriage is a trap and that I can have everything I want without shackling myself to a man. Although I've never had any suitors. None. Especially after the theatre fire." She paused, stroking her scar. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. Soon, my chances of finding a husband and having children will be gone. I want to marry for love. I wish to find someone whom I like and have many things in common with, but I'm growing a little desperate."

Her sadness hurt him physically.

"Angeline, you're lovely and kind. You'll find happiness." He tried to touch her hand, but she scraped her chair backwards and rose.

"I talked too much. Let's get back to you. Who told you that my mother uses fallen women?"

Right. He guessed he deserved her mistrust. "Lord Havisham hired a private detective to investigate your mother."

"What?" She folded her arms over her chest.

"That has nothing to do with me." He held up a hand. "Anyway, the detective followed your mother to Mrs. Walsh's shelter. Later, Lord Havisham told me the list of the women your mother used could be in the safe in her parlour. That's where I was going."

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. "My mother is very organised and tidy. She keeps everything in the cabinet in her study. And I'm sorry, but I don't believe Lord Havisham hired anyone to follow her. She would've noticed it."

"How does Havisham know about the safe then? Is there's a safe in her parlour?"

She worried at her bottom lip. "Yes, there's a safe. As for the infamous list, we'll find out immediately if it exists. Come with me."

After hastily putting his shirt and jacket on, he followed her to the parlour, patting his throbbing wound. She moved a mirror aside, revealing a safe in the wall, just as Havisham had said.

Angeline turned the handle right and left a few times and opened the safe.

He peered from over her shoulder. There were stacks of banknotes, a pearl necklace, and other pieces of jewellery, but no papers. No documents at all. Angeline shuffled the boxes and velvet pouches around. Nothing.

"See? I seriously doubt she exploits women." She shut the door. "I might be na?ve. I didn't realise my mother was the mistress of many gentlemen for years, but I'm absolutely sure she would never stoop as low as taking advantage of fallen women."

He scratched his chin. The fact the list wasn't there didn't mean Mrs. Haywood was innocent. "What about Mrs. Walsh? She's an honest woman who cares about fallen women."

She shrugged. "I have no explanation for that. Also, maybe the earl genuinely believes Mama has that list."

Possible, but unlikely. "Something is going on. Tonight was a trap. He sent me here on a wild goose chase to get me arrested."

"But why? Isn't he helping you get a seat in Parliament?"

"Yes. I don't understand." A new wave of worry washed over him. "Unless Havisham was never going to get me any seat."

Her black eyes became two midnight pools. "I think you could be right. He used your compassion for fallen women as leverage. He built a cock-and-bull story about my mother exploiting fallen women, and you fell for it. Then he warned the police with the hope they'd arrest you."

Possible. Or perhaps Angeline just refused to see her mother for who she really was. Havisham had told him Mrs. Haywood was conniving and clever. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd warned the police that night, knowing he would come. Perhaps she'd orchestrated the whole thing.

Her expression softened. "You care about those women, don't you?"

"I do."

She gave him a few shy glances. "What happened to your mother was a shock."

"I don't usually talk about her."

She closed a gentle hand around his, sending a jolt of sensations through his body. "If you want to talk about it, I'm here."

"Despite my breaking and entering into your house?"

"Yes, even though you used me to get the documents. I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you for that yet."

He gripped her hand. "I would never, ever use you. You must believe me. The moments we shared were only ours. They're genuine."

She furrowed her brow.

"I can prove it," he said, inching closer to her.

"How?"

"From the moment you kissed me, I can't stop thinking about you." He took her hand and placed it right over his heart. Her soft palm warmed his skin. "I want to kiss you right now. I always want to kiss you. I know I didn't behave like a gentleman to you and that I made mistakes, but do not doubt, not for a moment, how much I want you."

Her eyes widened. "Your heart is beating faster."

"I'm not lying. That's the truth." He took a deep breath. "You want to know what happened to my mother?"

"Yes."

"The night my mother was murdered…" A familiar choking sensation crawled into his throat. "I've never talked about that night with anyone."

"Take your time." Too much honesty and compassion shone in her eyes.

He sucked in a few deep breaths. "There was this jockey who was particularly violent. My mother had been poorly for a while, complaining about chest pain." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "One night, he forced my mother to dance. When she stopped, he'd use a whip to make her start again, until she collapsed on the floor and didn't move."

"Oh, Royston." Her voice cracked.

"The doctor said she had a heart condition, and the forced activity had caused her heart to stop. He said it wasn't murder, but I disagreed." He pushed down the memory of the sweet music, a stark contrast with the scene flashing through his mind.

Unshed tears shone in her eyes. "What happened to the jockey?"

He huffed. "One night, he left a brothel so drunk he fell into the Thames and drowned. I didn't shed a tear when I learnt the news."

"And what happened to you?"

"After I was kicked out of the brothel, I did everything to survive. I'm not the gentleman you think I am." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Look at me. I'm a thief, no matter how polished I am."

"I beg to differ." She cupped his cheek. "I understand why helping those women is so important to you."

"I feel so powerless, just as I was when my mother was killed in front of me. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't save her, and she died because no one protected her. I should have protected her."

She held him, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her to push aside the onslaught of horrible memories assaulting him.

"This is why you don't dance," she whispered, caressing his nape.

"I feel sick just thinking about dancing. I shiver, and nausea torments me. I can't do it. Her pale face will forever be impressed in my mind."

"Royston, stop torturing yourself. You were a scared child, and she was ill. There was nothing you could do to save her."

He inhaled her rose scent. "Why can I believe my life will be better when I'm with you? Why do you make me feel better? When I'm holding you, my fears stay in a dark corner of my soul and don't dare to bother me. You scare them away, bringing a ray of sunshine into my darkness."

He didn't know for how long they held each other, but his dark thoughts vanished, at least for now. Only the pure happiness of holding her remained.

She took his face and pressed her mouth against his, shocking him. When she parted her lips and invited him in, he nearly shook with disbelief. He gently inched his tongue into her mouth and explored it. A soft moan escaped from her as he grazed her bottom lip lightly.

He held her closer until her body was flush with his. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts out. Slowly, he moved his hand up the flare of her hips, the curve of her waist to her breast. She released a breath when he brushed her nipple with a thumb until the tip became hard.

Her breathy moan fanned on his neck. He had to stop himself from ripping her dressing gown open and kissing her everywhere he pleased. He slowly circled the hardened tip of her breast until she sagged against him.

"Enjoying it?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I feel all tingly and hot." She squeezed her thighs. "Achy."

"I can't allow that." He kissed her temple. "Let me help."

He bunched up the fabric of her dressing gown, uncovering her exquisite leg and thigh. Her skin was like velvet. They both sucked in a breath when he slipped his hand between her thighs. She was wet and warm.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered against her lips.

"No." No hesitation.

At the first stroke of his fingers, she gripped his shoulders hard. The fact he didn't feel any pain was a testament to how eager to please her he was.

He drew circles to rub her, inching a finger inside now and then. She was as tight as a fist. Another reminder he ought to be careful. He stroked her until she muffled a scream against his chest and closed her fists.

Little pulses beat against his fingers, and his trousers became painfully tight.

His arm was the only thing holding her up because she sagged against him completely, soft and warm. The deep, intense need to protect her burst within him. But above all, the need to become a better person made him shiver.

"Are you all right?" He adjusted her dressing gown, reluctantly covering her lovely legs.

She said something that was silenced by his chest since her mouth pressed against it.

"What?" He caressed the top of her head.

She lifted her head, and her face was the most beautiful sight. Her cheeks and lips were flushed, and her eyes glowed from within. "It was wonderful. Can we do it again?"

He kissed her forehead as a crazy idea formed in his mind. "I have a better idea. Marry me."