Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

T he problem with people trying to murder you , Savannah thought as Tristan's body slammed into hers, knocking her to the ground, is that it's always unexpected . She supposed, as she gasped for breath and absently wondered if it was because of the impact or Tristan's body pressed tight against hers, that was the nature of such things.

Better to lie in wait for the chance than let someone prepare.

Blinking up at Tristan, the overwhelming odor of rubbish and sewage wafting around her and something she never wished to identify seeping through her gown, Savannah opened her mouth, wished she hadn't, coughed, and tried again. She pushed against his chest—also a mistake. His solid muscles tempted her far more than she wanted.

Oh, but she wanted. It burned through her, a wildfire of need she'd suppressed for three years. She must've made a sound, because he looked down at her, his blue-green gaze blazing with worry and fear and, yes, desire.

"Savannah."

The way he said her name rushed through her, curling her own desire hotter and tighter until she thought she'd forget everything that had happened between them. She wasn't proud that it took her more than a moment to tamp down that desire, but she did. Eventually. Somewhat.

"What happened?" To her own ears, her voice sounded calm. A definite point in her favor despite the way her heart raced and her body yearned for his touch.

Damn traitorous thing.

Tristan stood in one smooth, graceful move and offered a hand. As unwilling as she was to take it, she was equally unwilling to touch any more of the street than she already had. Accepting his help, she allowed him to pull her off the street, all too aware of the wetness against the hood of her cloak. Grateful for the barrier, she gingerly removed the hood and let it drop against her back.

It did so with a wet plop.

Savannah grimaced. That was never coming clean.

"Someone tried to kill you," Tristan said, as if she hadn't been there.

"I am aware," she said testily. When Tristan had shouted her name, the fear in that single word had frozen her blood. A shiver raced down her spine and her heart refused to calm. Other than the breath knocked from her, and the stench on her cloak and gown, she wasn't harmed. "Did you see who?"

"No, he was in a greatcoat." Tristan frowned and looked around the street. "I don't know which direction he went, either."

Savannah nodded, only belatedly realizing what a foolish move that was. The incident had rattled her more than she'd have liked. "How do you know he tried to kill me?"

She met his gaze, somewhat steadier now. Tristan gripped her elbow, uncaring about the grime, and she took a deep breath for the first time since seeing him. Perhaps for the first time in three years. But she didn't shake off his hand or step back.

Not yet. She needed that comfort, even as the buzzing in her head quieted.

"I saw the glint of the blade." He frowned. "I don't know where the man came from, he appeared off the street. I only saw his knife. Nothing else made sense, only the blade aimed at you."

She blinked up at him as the street returned to its normal activities—drinking, gambling, and ignoring everyone else. Savannah heard what he hadn't said. That he'd focused on the blade, on her, not on the person wielding it.

"You could've tackled him instead," she offered, rolling her shoulders against the pain that crashing to the street had caused.

She looked around for her basket and stooped to lift it, wincing at the sharp stab of pain when she did so. Savannah ignored it and picked up the basket, which was also soaked through with grimy rainwater and rubbish and unmentionable slime. There was a dent where someone had kicked it. Holding it away from her skirts, though she didn't know why she bothered, Savannah met Tristan's gaze.

He blinked at her. Then he grinned and laughed, steering her back down the street toward St. Giles in the Fields and her carriage. "I hadn't even thought about that."

"Of course you hadn't." She almost laughed, but her stomach was twisted into knots, and her heart continued to race. "I am grateful," she said softly, holding his gaze and offering a small smile. It was the most her lips could move, no matter how she tried. "Thank you."

"This is the second time someone's tried to kill you." His voice lost its humor, its edge now harsh.

"First," she corrected. "That man had nothing to do with me. He was clearly the target." She paused and remembered that day, though it blurred now with what just happened.

"Savannah." He snapped her name, but she held up a hand.

"I'm tired, filthy, and hungry. I need to apologize to Browne for the mess I'm about to create in the carriage, I should find Dem and tell him what happened so he can assert his authority, and I'll need a bath."

Desperately.

"I can agree with all that." He sighed, turning her to face him. "I don't care how you feel about it, or about me."

"Tristan," she warned, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Savannah, someone tried to kill you!" He tempered his voice, but his fear and anger shook through her. "I don't care if you think it was the second time or the first. I'm accompanying you every time you visit St. Giles from now on."

"I can take care of myself, I don't need—" She stopped.

She'd had that argument a hundred times over the last few days. And that was when no one knew for certain what had happened. Now, there was no getting around it. Someone had clearly tried to kill her, slice her open as they had the other women.

Savannah wasn't invincible, no one was no matter their wealth. Standing on the street, aching from Tristan's tackle, and more determined than ever to discover who murdered her women, she nodded. She was finished closing herself off, making her own way when she had resources and people willing to help.

"All right." She almost told Tristan he couldn't tell her family, but that would've been pointless. "I'll inform Papa he needn't hire any of the dockworkers." That was something, at least. "But I warn you, I won't stop my work here. And I won't hide myself away."

Not anymore. Never again.

Tristan nodded. A curt agreement, but an agreement, nonetheless. "I know you won't." His voice softened, and his hand caressed the inside of her wrist where her glove stopped.

Arousal danced over her arm, shivering across her shoulders and down her spine. Once more, she wanted to jerk her hand away from his all too tempting touch. Once more, she did not. Savannah told herself it was because she didn't want to show weakness.

But it'd been so long since he'd caressed her, since she felt anyone's soft touch on her skin. She hadn't wanted anyone else. Ever, not since the first time they met.

"I'll find Dem and let him know what happened." He looked behind her, scanning the area as if he might see the man who attacked her. They both knew he was long gone. "There's little he can do now, but if he has as much power on the street as you say, then you're right. He ought to know."

Tristan turned, and they resumed their walk for the carriage. When Browne spotted her, his eyes widened, and his face paled.

"Miss Savannah!" He raced across the street, ignoring people, hackneys, and horses alike.

"I'm quite all right, Browne." She offered a small smile, but her body ached, and her nerves hadn't quite settled.

"Someone tried to kill her," Tristan said, his voice commanding. "From now on, I'll be accompanying her every time she visits here."

Browne, who had up until now eyed Tristan as if he were the filth on the bottom of his shoe, offered a curt nod and grunt of agreement. "I'll inform the servants, miss. We won't allow you to come here alone."

"I will talk to my father," Savannah said as Tristan helped her into the carriage. That ought to be about as much fun as having half the company's dockworkers follow her around.

She'd managed to convince her father that Browne needn't follow her everywhere. After her initial encounter with Dem, and her own prowess with her dagger, Dem had ensured her safety. That had changed now, and Savannah wasn't fool enough to brush this off. Someone had, indeed, tried to kill her. It left her shaken and vulnerable.

"Be careful." Tristan leaned in, his eyes blazing. She had a feeling it wasn't only anger and fear there. It drew her in, and though she scolded herself for the move, Savannah leaned toward him. "I'm not ready?—"

To lose her. He didn't say the words; he didn't need to. Savannah understood. Another brick in the wall around her heart crumbled and fell away.

"You be careful," she warned. "You promised me dinner tonight."

His hand brushed her cheek, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against her forehead. Savannah most definitely did not melt at the touch.

"For you, always."

"Ah, the used-to-be fiancé." Dem walked casually up to Tristan, who was in no mood for pleasantries.

The glint of the knife still blinded him, even now. Tristan didn't know how he'd even seen it. It wasn't as if the man had brandished it like in a play, all wide arcs and sloppiness. No, he'd used it well enough. Small, controlled movements, Tristan realized now. Precise. He'd been lucky the shimmering London light had illuminated the blade before the attack.

"Someone tried to kill Savannah."

Dem stopped dead in his tracks, as if Tristan had said the king himself walked down the street. "Miss Savannah?" he asked, as if either of them knew another woman named Savannah who helped in the rookery.

Tristan held tight to his temper. He knew Dem watched over these streets, but no one had complete control over everything. Not even the small length of Denmark Street. "Do you know another Savannah?"

So much for holding tight to his temper.

Dem scowled, his face darkening. "Who?"

"I didn't see a face. I can only assume it was the same man who's been terrorizing the street." Tristan closed his eyes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he agreed that if Dem remained in power, Savannah would be safer. That was all that mattered. "She's home now. Safe."

Dem let loose a list of inventive curses that took even Tristan aback. His hands balled into fists, and he looked as if he might take out his anger on the nearest building. Given the shoddy workmanship, he'd no doubt take it down.

"I don't want to discuss this on the street." Dem turned sharply on his heel and stalked back the way he came, toward his own house.

It was only then that Tristan realized Dem, Ailene, and baby Shaw were the only ones occupying their house. Given the overcrowding on the street, and the poverty that suffocated the area, that struck him as off. Still, he kept quiet as Dem pushed open the door into the darkened interior.

There were no windows. Those that had once faced the street had been boarded over with even, precise boards. What sort of scheme did Dem run that afforded him enough money for resources such as good, solid wood and the nails to hammer them in?

"Ailene, someone attacked Miss Savannah." Dem's voice had gentled, but he spoke plainly. He immediately sat in the chair beside her and took her hand, his own touch as soft as his voice.

Ailene's gaze swung from Dem's to his. "Who was guarding her?"

"No one." Tristan tried keeping his temper under wraps. It wasn't Ailene's fault, or her hand that had wielded the blade. "She was alone on the street."

Dem's gaze narrowed on him. "Where was Robbie?"

"I didn't see him. None of your men." Tristan eased into the seat opposite them. The chair creaked ominously. "I did, however, see a group of men Savannah said didn't like her helping here."

Dem spat another round of inventive curses. "They think they can overthrow me."

"It wasn't them," Tristan said, watching both siblings. "This was a single man. He wore a greatcoat and carried a knife. Savannah is unharmed. I saw the blade and pushed her out of the way."

Even now, despite his fury and fear, Tristan felt her body beneath his. His trousers tightened at the memory. At the memory of a dozen other times they spent together, her body pressed close against his.

"Did you see who?" Ailene's voice shook, but her shoulders straightened.

"No." Tristan shook his head. He'd been too busy saving her, tackling her to the ground and out of harm's way. He was too scared to do anything else, and his fear had clouded his thoughts, controlled his actions.

"Miss Savannah should've been protected," Ailene scolded Dem. Or perhaps both Tristan and Dem, since she glared at him, too.

"Which means someone on the street saw it and didn't report back." Dem drummed his fingers on the table, and Tristan was struck by the dynamic. Far different from what he'd witnessed last night.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps Tristan had seen what they wished him to see. Or seen what he expected to see. Dem controlled the street. It was what Savannah believed, what everyone believed. As he sat at the table with the pair of them, Tristan thought perhaps that very carefully crafted fa?ade had fooled everyone as it was meant to.

Clever.

"It also means whoever is behind these killings specifically targeted Savannah." Tristan voiced the words that sent ice through his veins. He hadn't told her; he hadn't wanted to admit it himself. Anyone could see she wasn't a resident here.

"Then they want her gone." Dem narrowed his eyes at the table. "Why? No one cares about this place." He paused and lifted his head, his gaze meeting Tristan's. "Except her."

The ice in Tristan's veins turned into cold rage. "You think they deliberately tried to kill her so no one else would bother with Denmark Street?"

It made sense. In a twisted sort of way, one based on hatred and anger. If no one cared about the street, if no one bothered to support the people here, the killers could continue on, without interference. But Savannah cared. She advocated for them. Her forgotten women.

Ailene rested her hand on Dem's curled fist and watched him.

He met her gaze, then stood. "Someone saw something."

"Find Robbie," Ailene added, voice harsh.

"And see who those men are," Tristan added. "They're trouble."

Dem snorted at that, and left without another word, but Tristan remained. He watched Ailene as she lifted the fussing baby from the bassinet. "We're used to being forgotten here," she whispered as Shaw settled down. "Miss Savannah and Miss Lyneé changed that. A lot of folks, they don't want anything to do with either woman."

Tristan stiffened. Far too many people commented on the color of Savannah's skin, thinking it made her less than. He didn't want to argue with Ailene, but he'd never let a slight against Savannah pass.

"Do you know how Dem came to control the street?" She dipped a rag, no doubt left by Savannah, into a small bowl of something and let Shaw suckle on it.

"No." Tristan stood and turned his back, giving her the privacy she needed to take care of her child. This wasn't the place for him, but he wanted to hear the story anyway.

"Our parents died when Dem was young. Gin." Ailene grunted that last word but didn't elaborate. So many died from gin. It flowed everywhere, especially here. "I raised him, but we hadn't anywhere to live, anything to eat. Do you know what it's like to be so hungry you imagine you're eating air, and it fills you?"

He didn't, but he didn't interrupt. Tristan doubted she wanted an answer. She already knew he'd never gone without.

"I worked at one of the gaming hells, started in the kitchens, worked my way up to serving wench for the most high-class customers. Every penny I earned went to feeding us, clothing us." She stopped, and he heard her voice break. "Kept me and Dem from the drink."

"Is that why you two live here alone?"

She laughed, a small sound. "Some of Dem's gang stay upstairs. They pay us rent. But I promised him we'd never again go hungry. No matter what we had to do."

"So he took control." Tristan's head tilted. "Who ran the street before him?"

"Smarter than you look, used-to-be fiancé." She offered another small laugh. "The one before was a bully. Slapped people around, hurt his women. A mean drunk."

Tristan's hands curled into fists. "Did Savannah know him?"

"Miss Savannah wouldn't have any dealings with him, but no. Dem had already taken over by the time she came to us."

Which meant Dem had held the power here for years. Impressive. "I promised you I'd discover who was responsible. I'll keep that promise." He stepped for the doorway. "But know this—Savannah is my priority, my only priority. If I have to burn the place down to keep Savannah safe, I will."

"That is not the way to win her affections. You need to court her, show her you still love her." Ailene's voice held a note of amusement now. "Have you tried poetry?"

Tristan laughed and opened the door. "Not yet."

But it did remind him of the trunk of letters locked in his cabin onboard his ship. Letters he wrote every day, telling of his travels, of his heartbreak, even though he'd been the one who left.