Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

" Y ou're certain?" Savannah's mother eyed her carefully as Coyle finished pinning her hair.

"I'm unharmed. The bath did wonders." Savannah smiled confidently.

By the time her parents and Aunt Nadia had burst into the house, frantic with worry, she, Lyneé, and Eliza had moved from her private sitting room and reconvened in the salon. As much as she hated to admit it, Lyneé had been correct to invite Eliza. Her friend's presence had helped ease Savannah's tension in the aftermath of the attempt on her life.

Anger had replaced fear by the time she recounted what had happened to her parents. It'd taken quite a bit to talk her father out of storming Denmark Street and finding the perpetrator. Or locking her in her room for the rest of her life. In the end, Savannah had agreed, and willingly, that Browne and Peters would accompany her every time she left the house.

No more leaving Browne at the carriage, no more relying solely on Dem for protection.

Savannah didn't say it aloud, but knew Tristan wouldn't leave her alone, either. That knowledge warmed her, and more of the wall that once surrounded her heart crumbled. For the first time since his return, she didn't mind.

Now, in her rooms, she met her mother's worried gaze in the looking glass and smile.

"I'm also certain you have your own plans."

"Hmm." Sophia pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. Fear and worry still bracketed her mouth, and she hadn't stopped touching Savannah since she'd arrived, frantic and ready to storm Denmark Street with Hugh. "I said you should talk to Tristan."

"And I am." Savannah held up a hand. "I know, I know. Talking and solving a murder aren't the same, but I'm listening."

Her heart listened a little too much, but she kept that to herself. Her gaze drifted to the small chest that had arrived shortly after her parents. The messenger, who proudly declared himself Captain Tristan's most trusted cabin boy, had delivered it with a flourish worthy of the highest courtiers.

Savannah opened it but hadn't yet read the letters. As tempting as they were, she wanted to hear about his life from Tristan.

Tonight was for them. And their next step in discovering the murderer.

Mostly for them, she thought as she reached for her mother's hand and squeezed it. "I know you worry, and I don't blame you. What happened today was—not at all what I expected." She'd never anticipated whoever was behind these murders to go after her. A tactical error, one she wouldn't make again. "However, Tristan will be with me."

"Hmm." Sophia eyed her with the same sly humor Lyneé did whenever he was brought into the conversation. "I do trust him to take care of you," she admitted. "Will he break your heart again?" Her mouth relaxed into a small smile, and she added in a lighter tone, "I suppose, if you must move rooms again, we can always move you to Morgana's room. Your sister seems quite content in the country with your gran. Though," Sophia said seriously, "I might hunt him down this time."

She'd have to stand behind Savannah. Still, she didn't believe Tristan would hurt her, not again. Of course, Savannah had thought that before, would've sworn in church in front of the Bishop of Canterbury himself, that Tristan wouldn't have ever hurt her.

She'd been wrong then. Now?

"I don't think he would've left me had we married," Savannah heard herself say. "I don't believe he'd have boarded that ship and sailed off then. Was he scared of that commitment?" She shook her head, confident in this. "No, it wasn't that. From what he's said, and I believe him, I think it was a matter of if I don't go now, I'll never know ."

Had it hurt? Dreadfully. Would she have been happy, knowing he'd married her anyway but always longed for the sea? No. Never.

"I'll still skewer him if he hurts you again," her mother promised.

Savannah laughed, a wave of love moving through her. It cracked those last bricks around her heart. Standing, she kissed her mother's cheek. "I know. But I think it's different now."

Tristan found himself, she saw it in the way he moved, the way he acted. She'd never have known the difference, three years ago, but now it shone plain as day. Perhaps they'd both needed these years. Though she could've done without the soul-wrenching heartbreak.

"All right." Sophia kissed her cheek. "Be careful, Savannah." She squeezed her shoulder. "Please. I never want to feel that fear again."

"I know. Browne and Peters will be with me. And I won't needlessly venture onto the street, at least not until we find who—" She swallowed hard and gripped her hands tighter around each other. It wasn't every day someone tried to kill her.

"Your father and I are headed to Lady Hamilton's dinner. We can cancel."

Savannah hid her surprise. Her parents often attended dinners and soirees, mostly for business. Very few of London's society accepted them given their heritage. Lady Annis Hamilton was an exception, but Savannah couldn't remember the last time she knew of such an event.

One more aspect of her family's lives she knew nothing about. Part of Savannah was gratified that they continued on with their lives. She hadn't, but it was foolish of her to think everyone else would so utterly change. The other part of Savannah berated herself for pulling away so thoroughly that she hadn't known of such things until this week. Never again, she vowed.

"I'm surprised you convinced Papa to attend, given what happened."

"Savannah, darling." Sophia ran her finger down Savannah's cheek, mindful of Coyle and her work. "If you weren't having supper with Tristan, and we didn't trust him to keep you safe, nothing short of the four horsemen could stop your father." She sighed. "As it was, he reminded me that this was your choice."

Oh. Savannah hadn't expected that. Her mother was the more level-headed one in the family. Her father being the voice of reason? It set her world askew. "I won't leave the house without Browne or Peters," she promised again.

"We always allowed you more freedom than we perhaps should have." Sophia shook her head. "But all four of you are strong, capable people, and your father and I are so proud of all of you." Her gaze softened. "We don't regret giving you that freedom, even if most of the world might consider it scandalous. I think you're stronger for it."

"Thank you, Mama." Then, because she was heartily tired of talking about herself, she asked, "Anyone in particular in attendance tonight?"

"Besides the countess's unmarried son?" Sophia winked and laughed. It held a strained, tired quality. "He's quite handsome." With another squeeze to Savannah's shoulder and a kiss on her cheek, her mother walked for the door. "Lord Shilby will be there with his grandson. Apparently, they're interested in some cargo."

Shilby had said something about that, at Eliza's, after their talk about St. Giles. Savannah had thought he was tossing it out as a hook, but perhaps she was wrong. With the wars over and the seas relatively safe once more, perhaps he truly did have an interest in shipping. Had he planned to attend this dinner when he'd invited her to Vauxhall? Or after she'd sent round that note about not attending tonight?

Savannah rubbed her eyes. Her thoughts raced round and round, and she had no answers.

"There you are, miss." Coyle stepped back and eyed her handiwork. "Though I think it's a bit fancy for a night chasing a murderer." She shuddered at that last.

"It's perfect. Thank you, Coyle." Savannah had determined she'd look her best no matter what. Unfortunately, she couldn't decide whether it was for her own confidence or to impress Tristan, and she hated that. "No need to wait up. I'll be fine."

Coyle didn't look convinced, either over her fancy hair with its carefully placed combs decorated with butterflies, her blue evening dress, or the fact that she planned to dine with Tristan.

Even after her bath, a faint ache still throbbed along her bruised shoulders.

However, Coyle nodded. "Be safe, miss. And good night."

Coyle tidied up the room while Savannah sat on her bench. She needed a moment. Just one, so she could gather her thoughts and feel what lay in her heart about Tristan. The Tristan of today, not the one she knew from three years ago.

Her afternoon with Lyneé and Eliza had helped. Savannah wanted to move forward, see where this new path took her and Tristan.

Standing, she took one final look at herself in the tall looking glass and nodded at her lady's maid. Poor Coyle did not look convinced that this was at all a good idea. Savannah wanted to protest that it was only dinner but doubted that would appease her.

With a final smile, Savannah headed downstairs, toward the front parlor, and only then realized she had no idea if she should wait for Tristan in her rooms or elsewhere. They'd never stood on ceremony; they hadn't the need. Now that she thought of it, this entire supper was scandalous. True, they dined with a household of servants, but her parents were attending another event, Lyneé was off someplace, and she certainly hadn't a chaperone.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she continued down the stairs, past portraits of her great-grandmother, Raeni, and her grandmother, Cedella. It hadn't occurred to her until that moment that this dinner might look unseemly from the outside.

Clearly her parents trusted her, though they'd been more concerned with Savannah's wellbeing than propriety.

They trusted her, despite the threat of scandal, and that bolstered Savannah considerably.

"Mr. Conrad is waiting for you in the parlor, miss." Walters bowed slightly, his voice without any inflection whatsoever.

"Thank you, Walters." She paused for only a heartbeat. "I trust you'll ensure the staff is aware that this is a perfectly proper supper."

"Of course, miss." Walters paused. "We want you happy, Miss Savannah," he admitted, the second biggest breach of etiquette she'd ever witnessed from the usually proper butler. The first, of course, being earlier when he'd bellowed for the maids. "If he breaks your heart again, you've only to say the word."

Her lips twitched, and emotion closed her throat. For one moment, tears blurred her vision. "Thank you, Walters. I—That means a great deal."

Walters bowed and disappeared. Savannah didn't watch him leave but walked for the parlor where Tristan waited. He had dressed for the occasion in a richly tailored green waistcoat and coat with hints of silver threading.

Savannah hoped he'd dressed for her and not the brothel later tonight. Shame they'd canceled Vauxhall. They'd have looked stunning together.

"Will anyone be joining us?" He held out his arm and escorted her toward the informal dining room, his gaze trained only on her.

"No," she admitted. "I hadn't thought of a chaperone. It took half the afternoon to convince Mama and Papa that I was unharmed." She paused. "They're at Lady Hamilton's, if you feel the need?—"

"No." He offered his most charming grin, the one that made her knees weak. "I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

Something in her relaxed. Only the two of them, as it had always been. No need for pretense or talking around the subject she desperately did and did not wish to speak about. "My understanding is that the staff has made a pact, one they'll enact if they suspect you've been improper."

He snorted but nodded solemnly. "Please just send my parents a note about my fate and where my body might be discovered."

"I'm sure it won't come to that." She grinned and felt a bit lighter than she had a week ago. Or even a day ago.

"I noticed more guards." He sat beside her at the small table the family used. "All heavily armed."

"I managed to convince Papa that stationing half the shipping crew around the house wasn't a good idea." She offered a wry smile, but her statement hadn't been that much of an exaggeration. "His other option was locking me in the house for the next five years."

Tristan only nodded at that statement, which was, unfortunately, also not an entire exaggeration. Annoyed, Savannah huffed and glared at him.

"I'm not saying being locked in the house is a good idea," he said swiftly, holding up a hand to ward off her response. "I'm merely saying?—"

"Careful," she warned.

"I applaud the additional guards," he finished with a charming grin.

Tristan's closeness shivered over her arms and down her back. The arousal she had only ever felt around him burned through her, heating her blood and making her want things she had no right wanting.

This was the path she'd chosen, however. Savannah took a moment, trying to gather her thoughts, but the memories of their time together rushed through her.

"I didn't have any interest in another man," she heard herself admit. Cursing her tongue, she focused on the soup in front of her. It didn't help. The words flowed out of her like a river, and she was helpless to dam it up. "After you left," she whispered, "I devoted myself to the women of the rookery, those society forgot."

"Grandmother Raeni would be proud," he said quietly, a hint of his own pride in his voice.

Her great-grandmother, the woman who began the tradition of healing, of helping those who needed it, would have been proud, indeed. She was a freed slave who inherited her former mistress's fortune upon her death and decided neither society, her skin color, nor her lack of formal education was going to stop her.

"Not everyone wants my help," Savannah admitted ruefully. "Because they don't want charity or because of my skin color." She brushed a fingertip over the back of her dark hand and sighed. She met Tristan's gaze and the spark of anger in his blue-green eyes. She knew he'd fight anyone who so much as thought of slighting her. "Then I met Dem, and things changed."

"Why did he accept you? Other than he tried to bribe you into paying for protection." Tristan's grin flashed over his face. "Not that he shouldn't have—everyone should—but I know his sort."

"He thought he could intimidate me."

Tristan laughed so hard he nearly choked on his soup. "He didn't strike me as a fool," he finally said.

Savannah grinned. This, this right here, was what the innumerable meals they'd shared had been like. How they'd spent their time together for so many years. Just the two of them, eating together, being together—utterly inseparable. She waited while the soup was removed and the fish served, those memories weighing heavily on her.

"He is not." She paused for a dramatic beat. "Not after I threatened him." Tristan snorted again. "He's a fair hand with a knife, but it's a small thing compared to my dagger."

Tristan shook his head, still grinning. "He clearly knows better now." Then, more softly, he added, "I'm sorry I missed that."

She stared blindly down at her fish. "I wouldn't have met him if you hadn't left. Nor Ailene. It's a different world there, one I never imagined being a part of."

Her grandmother was also a healer and a midwife, but she chose to practice her profession in the openness of country, living in her own suite of rooms at Nelda Hall. Gran and Tristan's mother were the closest of friends, and they strongly believed in helping others no matter their circumstances.

"I wanted to walk in Gran's footsteps," she admitted, the words almost too quiet in the silent room. "When you left, I saw two paths before me. I could cry over you—" And the abject despair nearly undid her. It'd taken months for her to claw her way out of that black pit. "Or I could help. I chose to help."

"And if I had stayed?" Tristan asked, equally quiet. "Would you have chosen that same path?"

She slowly blinked and met his gaze. "I thought to follow in Mama's footsteps, entertaining for the business and helping the ladies of the ton with their ailments, as a way to garner support and money for our causes."

"I loved the woman you were," Tristan admitted.

Her heart cracked open once again at his mournful tone and his use of past tense. Loved . Which was ridiculous, as he clearly wanted her—he'd made that clear enough.

Then he smiled. "The woman sitting beside me now steals my breath."

"I'm the same woman." Her words caught in her throat. His admission stole her breath and made her heart sing.

Damn traitorous thing that it was.

"You are, but you're stronger." He shook his head. "You were always strong, of course, but it's different now. I can't explain it in words." He placed a hand over his heart. "I can feel it."

"If this is a roundabout way of justifying your?—"

"No." He took her hand. "I don't know the people we might've been if I'd stayed. But I do know I want to try again. Do you?"

She held his gaze, felt the heat of his touch, longed for it on her skin. For the feel of his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth tasting along her inner thighs. She missed the warm, solid weight of him against her, the feel of his powerful thighs beneath her as she took him deep inside her body.

"I want to never hurt like that again," she said. "I want you to never shatter my trust."

"I know." His hand firmly held hers, his gaze steady. "I can never make up for the past. I could blame Philip and the stories we wove about adventures, but ultimately the decision to leave rests squarely on my shoulders."

He paused again, and her throat closed with a hope she dared not name.

"I do promise you this: I'll never leave you again, Savannah. Not unless you want me to."

"Perhaps, maybe, we might try. I don't guarantee anything," she rushed to add, though he hadn't done more than squeeze her hand.

She wanted to kiss him again. Wanted to make love to him. A future? A small part of her heart tugged at her. Another try? Savannah wanted to see where this led. With the new Tristan, because he was right about that much.

He'd changed as well, now stood more confidently at her side. His head wasn't so far in the clouds, something she hadn't even noticed when they were younger.

"Let's see where this takes us." She removed her hand and stabbed a bite of fish perhaps a little too determinedly. "One step at a time."