Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

" I know you sent a note round to Shilby," Tristan said as the footmen removed the final plates. "However, I believe we should return to Denmark Street tonight."

"I thought you were searching the brothels?" Savannah asked in surprise.

"There's too many." He shook his head, but she had a feeling it was more than the number of them. "And I'm not convinced we'll find answers there."

"You think they're still on the street?" She tilted her head. "You think there'll be another attack. Why tonight? There's been no real pattern."

"I know." Tristan shrugged and stood, moving around the table and offering his hand. "I still believe they'll attack during the day. But I feel there are answers on Denmark Street that we haven't uncovered."

"Are you certain about this?" Savannah asked as they stood from dinner, ready for whatever the night had in store for them. She was definitely not dressed for a visit to Denmark Street, but wouldn't take the time to change.

Browne and Peters would accompany them, of course, no questions asked. They were both determined not only to see her safe, but to bring the culprit or culprits to justice. Despite her gratitude for the additional protection they'd provide, Savannah couldn't shake a faint thrum of unease.

"I'm certain I could have the entirety of Conrad and Shaw Shipping accompany us. I'm debating whether I should bring Arnault and some of the more rambunctious members of my crew. I'm not sure at all." He rolled his shoulders, looking tense. The candlelight glinted off his hair, making his frown look harsher. "Am I certain these men will be at the brothels and not the gaming hells? No. Am I even sure where to begin looking?" Again, Tristan shook his head. "Not at all."

"I still don't understand the change from evening to daylight." She tapped her fingers on the table, trying to sort everything out but coming up blank.

"It's almost as if they upped the stakes." He paused, and a chill ran down her spine despite the pleasantness of the dining room and the comfortable meal they'd just shared. She met his gaze across the table and suddenly knew what he was going to say next. "Like they placed bets with each other to commit these murders in daylight because the chances of being caught were higher."

"They started with the attacks on women. They stopped—why?" Savannah closed her eyes and cursed herself. "Because the season ended. Oh, stupid, Savannah." She met Tristan's gaze. "I never connected it until now. The violations, they stopped with Ailene because the season ended."

"The season is almost finished now," he pointed out. "Why not start again after the opening ball? Why wait until two weeks ago?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I never said murder made sense."

"No, only that we're right. The man or men who are doing this are part of the ton ." He ran a hand down his face. "There are too many places to search."

She shuddered and curled her fingers around her skirts. It did not steady her in the least. She'd carry her dagger out in the open tonight. But she still didn't think it would be enough. "It wasn't the thrill "—she spat the word with distaste—"they sought. They wanted more."

Tristan rounded the table in a quick stride and took her hands. They'd touched so often over the years, but barely at all since his return. Once more, the feel of his skin on hers raced hot in her veins, making her long for more. For one dizzying moment, Savannah wanted to toss caution, propriety, and sensibility to the winds and kiss him here, in front of the servants. Escort him upstairs and see if they fit together as they always had.

Suddenly, and somewhat unreasonably, she wished she'd worn gloves with her stylish blue dinner gown. But then, she'd felt an unreasonable need to impress him tonight. A nighttime stroll along the rookery didn't seem like the makings of a courtship.

Courtship? Her head rejected that word. Whatever had she been thinking? Her heart, however, embraced it.

"I don't like this. None of it makes any sense." Tristan shook his head and tugged her from the dining room toward the small parlor, where the ladies usually retired after more formal dinners.

"Tristan, I won't sit idly by."

He was already shaking his head. "I'd never ask you to. But you said yourself that Shilby brought up the murders and Crichton even mentioned Shilby talking about them. Why? What does Shilby know, or suspect, that he'd even care? What do either of them have to do with St. Giles Rookery? Why would two highly connected men, who never set foot in in a rookery and couldn't point out Denmark Street on a map, be so informed?"

It raced over her skin, chasing away all her desire. Well, perhaps not all her desire. That always simmered beneath the surface, even when he was gone. Savannah dropped his hands and stepped back, not so much to clear her head, but so she could pace, follow his line of thinking.

"This isn't about the women." She nodded, turning in a small circle, her gaze trained upward on the plaster crown molding. "Though it infuriates me to admit it, the women are secondary to whatever Shilby and Crichton know." Her hands curled into fists and then uncurled. "But why bring it up at all?"

"I don't see a connection," Tristan stood off to one side as she walked, but Savannah knew he tried to work through this problem. None of it made sense. "Perhaps there's a bill on the floor about crime…I've no idea. I haven't followed British politics recently." He met her gaze, but all she saw there was his determination. "I think it's about time I do."

"Let's start with Dem. I doubt there's anything he hasn't told us. But after this afternoon's, ah, incident , he might have more information." Savannah didn't necessarily want to return to Denmark Street.

"Incident?" Tristan repeated, watching her with a skeptical expression.

"I don't have another word," she muttered. She'd racked up far too many "incidences" in the last week. "‘Attempted murder' sounds so…harsh."

He rolled his eyes. "Two incidences are two too many, Savannah."

She couldn't argue with him there. "I still don't think that first one was deliberately aimed at me." Savannah paused again. "Looking back, I'm not sure if that was a misdirection or not."

"You think someone killed a man beside you and threw a dagger at you, all for misdirection?"

Put like that, it sounded daft. "Perhaps not," she conceded. Tapping her fingers against her waist, she wondered if smoothing her fingers along the frown bracketing his mouth might send the wrong message. "However, the stranger's murder doesn't fit the pattern we're working with."

"That I can agree with. Rifle shot rather than a knife, man instead of a woman." Tristan tilted his head, eyes looking past her as he worked out that part. "Those men who were watching you in the rookery earlier…do you think it was one of them who threw the knife? Used the commotion of the shot to try to remove you from Denmark Street?"

"They'd have to have known about the rifle shot," she protested. A chill danced over her arms, but Savannah dismissed it. Unfortunately, for all the people she helped, there were a greater number who didn't want her help. Who spat at her feet or moved to the other side of the street.

"Not necessarily, but I agree, it's a stretch. It could've been a coincidence, the timing of it all." His gaze cleared and watched her, somber now. "I haven't spent as much time there as you." He took her hand again, and another shiver raced over her, this one far more pleasurable. "I'd like to change that. If you agree."

Savannah held Tristan's gaze, wondering if that might be the next step in their relationship. "Thank you for the letters."

He blinked, surprised by the change in subject. "Did you look at them?"

"My afternoon was a tad overcrowded," she said wryly. He didn't grin or laugh it off but watched her seriously.

Reading them so wouldn't change anything. Still, a small part of her thought perhaps it might add context to her three years without him. Reading about his years on the sea, visiting various ports, might erase the gulf between them.

She stepped forward and took his arm. Perhaps these last days had already erased that gulf.

"I'd rather hear about the last three years from you." Saying the words aloud solidified her choice. Her path.

"I'm sure you didn't write me," he said, somewhat ruefully. "I don't blame you. But I'd like to hear what else you've done while I was away."

Savannah smiled and her heart skipped a beat at his interest. "Mostly what I've told you," she said slowly as they stopped just outside the foyer. "Finding out who I am, I suppose you could say."

Savannah paused. Finding out who she was. She thought she knew. When he'd left, she'd drifted for a bit, then settled into her new life, one she'd chosen. One she was proud of but wouldn't have ever known if he hadn't left.

Because she insisted on honesty, demanded it since his return, she admitted what she hadn't realized until just then. "I would've been happy if you hadn't left," she said slowly. "Content, even. Would I be the woman I am now? No. And I like the woman I've become very much."

Tristan lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "I love the woman you've become. I loved who you were," he repeated what he'd said over dinner. "But the you right now takes my breath away."

For one more moment, Savannah wondered what their life would've been like. Then she let it go, dissolving as easily as a leaf carried away by the current. Holding his gaze, she felt freer than she had since Tristan's return. Turning for the foyer, where Walters waited for them, she stepped onto another new path.

"A small change in plans, Walters," she told the butler. "We'll be heading for Denmark Street with Browne and Peters."

"In a hackney, miss?" Walters did not look at Tristan.

She met Tristan's gaze, who nodded. We, she'd always liked the sound of that. She and Tristan, together. "I think so," she agreed. "No need to announce our arrival."

"I'll inform them, miss."

Walters left while Savannah buttoned her pelisse and tugged on her gloves. The nights had grown cooler despite the warmer days. In the silence of the foyer, anticipation thrummed along her nerves.

"When you left," Savannah whispered, "I didn't understand. I cut off all contact with my friends. Eliza, Christiane. Until tonight, I hadn't realized how insulated I'd become."

"I'm sorry." Tristan took her hand and pulled her closer. "I broke your trust."

"You did," she agreed. "But I chose that path." She didn't want to admit she hid away from society, from those who knew her. "Not because of the scandal, though that was…loud."

Tristan looked stricken. "I hadn't even thought of that." He closed his eyes, and for a heartbeat, he looked broken. "I'm so sorry, Savannah. I was so focused on me, on seeing—I hadn't even considered that."

"I know. I didn't care what anyone whispered about me. I'm used to the talk, but it seemed—I don't know. At the time, it felt right that I just turn onto a new path." She sighed and remembered tonight's conversation with her mother. "Mama told me that she and Papa were headed for Lady Hamilton's. I cut myself off so thoroughly that I hadn't even realized they still socialized with the countess."

It sounded strange now, admitting such a thing. Of course, her parents still socialized with their friends. But the scandal of their eldest daughter's broken engagement had touched everyone, which had made her hide away even more.

Perhaps that scandal hadn't affected them quite as much as she once feared.

"That's why you immersed yourself in St. Giles. Why you spend your days there."

"Not solely to escape the scandal," she corrected him. "I'm sure I could've disparaged you, spread rumors about you up and down the social strata, but until this moment it never occurred to me." Savannah nearly laughed as Walters's careful, precise footsteps echoed down the hall. "I grieved, pulled myself up, and did what I felt was right. Helping those women felt right."

It had settled something inside her she hadn't realized was missing. Marrying Tristan had been all she'd ever wanted. She'd planned on following her mother's footsteps in society.

Sophia Shaw held court on her own terms. She knew the shipping business as well as any of them, but had chosen, instead, to use her own knowledge of various female ailments to help society's women. She was trusted by those women and their families and held their secrets close. Though that had also been Savannah's plan, now she saw a different way to help, one all her own.

"The hackney has arrived, miss. Browne and Peters are waiting for you." Walters bowed, flicked a glance at Tristan that didn't hold any of his previous acrimony, and held open the door.

Outside, the streets sat in an interesting glow of clouds, mist, and the barest hint of hazy, setting sun. The days were longer now, and Savannah suddenly wished for those days where she and Tristan wandered the grounds of Nelda Hall until the sun fully disappeared. The breeze cooled the streets, bringing with it the hint of rain that had threatened all day.

"Miss." Browne nodded as he held open the door with a short bow and a glare at the hackney's driver. "You won't be alone, Miss Savannah."

"Thank you, Browne." She smiled at him, not at all sure this was a good idea, returning to the scene of her attack. Still, she felt it necessary.

Tristan climbed into the hackney and sat beside her as Browne closed the door. At least she wouldn't be alone.

"Will you continue to help at St. Giles?" Tristan asked once the hackney started to move.

"I don't know." She had no idea what the future might hold. Not anymore. "Once, I had mapped it all out. Now, my priority is finding these murderers, discovering why Lord Shilby—and his grandson—have such an interest, and ensuring Ailene and her babe are healthy."

Tristan nodded, a small, proud smile playing around his lips. She wondered what he thought, saddened she no longer simply knew. "Do you know what Ailene named the child?"

Surprised, Savannah shook her head. "No, she hasn't said."

"Shaw."

Her own smile blossoming over her lips, she laughed. She held Tristan's gaze and relaxed against the hackney wall. "I like the sound of that."

The rest of the ride they enjoyed in silence. And for the first time since Tristan's surprising arrival, Savannah considered the silence comfortable. Easy. Almost, almost , like old times. Things between them wouldn't ever be like that again, but perhaps, they could be better.

Before she had the chance to work through that, they'd arrived.

"I've rarely been here at this hour," she admitted softly as Browne and Peters descended from the hackney. Much, it seemed, to the driver's delight. "The second time was with you." She glanced at him, but they both remembered their visit only the other day. "The first time was when Ailene was attacked. Dem sent Robbie."

The poor lieutenant had been frantic, nearly incomprehensible. But she'd gone, despite the danger.

"Really?" Tristan took her hand, which surprised Savannah. She'd grown used to his formal manners, but her gloved hand wrapped in his made her feel more settled. Steady. "Never seen the street with the sun barely lighting it?"

It was an odd look. Like the street was caught between waking and sleeping, she'd have said in a fit of poetic whimsy. The moment they stepped onto Denmark Street, three men followed them. That didn't surprise Savannah, since every one of Dem's people knew her.

"It is beautiful," she whispered, all too aware of Peters and Browne following her and Dem's men following them.

"Even with our entourage?" Tristan grinned down at her. He vibrated beside her, ready for a fight. "All of them?" he added, but she wasn't surprised he noticed the others, too.

"Miss Savannah, why are you out so late?" Dem's voice carried from one of the doorways—not his and Ailene's. The men following them melted into the shadows. "Used-to-be fiancé, I thought you knew better."

"Have you ever tried talking a woman out of something she wants?" Tristan asked, still ready beside her, prepared to fight anyone who looked at her wrong. It warmed her, reminded her of their time before.

Some things, she realized, hadn't changed.

"Is Ailene well?" Savannah asked, all too aware of her fancy attire. She'd dressed for a quiet dinner with Tristan, not a walk down Denmark Street.

"Aye," Dem said cautiously.

She waited before he finally nodded and led them a few houses down to where they lived. He knocked once, a short rap on the door that was clearly a signal, then unlocked it. Ailene looked healthier than even this afternoon when Savannah had seen her last.

"Miss Savannah, I'm so happy you're here." She nodded cautiously at Tristan and lowered her voice. "Have you found the man who attacked you? Are they the same as who attacked me?" She swallowed but her voice didn't waver. "All of us?"

"Not yet," Savannah soothed, holding Ailene's hand tightly with her own. "That's why we're here. Is the babe well?"

"Aye, as healthy as can be. Thank you for the food."

"Have you learned anything else?" Tristan asked Dem as Ailene handed over the child to Savannah.

"Oh, there's talk," Dem agreed. "Nothing about your attack this morning, Miss Savannah, and I'm sorry for that." His voice hardened. "Someone saw something, and I'll find out who."

"Anything else?" Tristan asked as she checked over the baby.

Dem snorted. "Whispers of horrors stalking the street, of demons stealing the souls of our women down to hell."

"Is that new?" Savannah paused as Tristan snorted.

Dem merely grunted.

"You don't believe that, do you?" she asked, looking between the siblings.

"No," Dem spat, and Ailene shook her head mutely.

"They're men," she whispered, the terror of her attack still clinging heavily to her. "The one—he was a man. Not a demon or devil. Only a man."

"That doesn't make it better," Tristan said quietly. "Only more real. I promised you we'd stop them. That's why we're here."

Carefully setting the child in the small bassinet she'd given Ailene, Savannah turned. "They'll never stop. Whether the same person attacked me this morning or not, these attacks won't stop."

"True," Tristan agreed, that anger simmering in his tone once more.

"These men? No. I think they're waiting." Dem sighed and looked upward, his muscles taut, hands fisted.

"Did any of the victims work the brothels around here?"

"If this is how you speak in front of the ladies, no wonder you're the used-to-be fiancé." Dem shook his head and glared. "No. None."

"Do you know of a Baron Shilby?" Savannah asked, still not sure how he was connected.

"A baron?" Dem laughed but quickly lowered his voice so as not to wake the child. "You have the wrong street, Miss Savannah."

"He seems interested," she stated. "I want to know why."

"Has anyone other than us asked questions?" Tristan tilted his head and silently moved toward the door.

For all the ramshackle shabbiness of the street, the door itself stood solid and sturdy against the world. Savannah hadn't ever noticed that before, and now she wondered where it'd come from. She studied the door carefully. No, she knew she hadn't seen it before. Where on earth had Dem procured it?

Tristan held up a hand, his ear close against the door. He met her gaze and tilted his chin. Someone, or a group of people, stood outside. She was suddenly glad of the new, solid construction. Taking Tristan's cue, she carefully picked up the baby and passed him to Ailene, who watched silently.

"Has he fussed?" Savannah asked in a slightly louder voice, hoping to keep the conversation normal for any listening ears outside.

Ailene stared at her brother. Dem looked furious at this new intrusion clearly meant to challenge his rule here.

Oh, but Savannah was definitely not dressed for a fight.

"Ailene," she hissed.

"No." Ailene's voice shook. "He's a good baby." She spoke faster now. "I named him Shaw. I hope you don't mind. ‘Savannah' didn't quite fit a boy."

"It's a lovely name, and I'm honored." Savannah offered a genuine, happy smile. She steered mother and baby toward the back of the room as Dem stood beside Tristan. Then, slipping her dagger from its sheath, she positioned herself between them and the door.

She was ready.

Tristan nudged Dem, who grunted. "No one else has been around," Dem said in an overly loud voice. "The only one asking questions is you, used-to-be fiancé."

"Don't call me that," Tristan grumbled just loud enough to reach where she stood at the opposite end of the room.

Her lips twitched, but she adjusted her grip on her dagger. Whoever stood outside would also be readying for a fight. Tristan held up three fingers, and as he silently counted down, Savannah turned toward Ailene.

"Anyone after Dem's position?"

"Everyone," Ailene said, her voice didn't waver, and her eyes held a hardness born from the rookery. She had grown up protecting Dem from the gangs, knew how to stand on her own. Cuddling Shaw closer to her, Ailene kissed his head. "The attacks haven't helped."

"I'll see that he gets credit for discovering who did it," Savannah promised as Tristan quietly unlatched the door. "Where'd you get that door?"

"Dem," Ailene said as she turned her back and huddled deeper in the corner with Shaw. "He and a few men took it from one of the ships. Not from Shaw Shipping," she hastened to add. "We don't steal from our friends."

Savannah grinned, dagger at the ready.